


The Loverboy Trials

by PM_Writes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BAMF Lance (Voltron), Canon Universe, Complete, Consent, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Post S4, Protective Space Fam, Salty Keith, Slow Burn, broganes, diplomacy gone wrong, now with art!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-02-22 08:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PM_Writes/pseuds/PM_Writes
Summary: He can tell Shiro is struggling to remain collected. “And why do you think Keith is your…sex…god?” And geez, that would be so much funnier if this wasn’t so disturbing.The representative leads them to the back of the council room where she pulls aside a large curtain. Behind it, a huge mural stretches to the ceiling.It looks exactly like Keith.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy. We've been writing and editing this for about four weeks now and it is pretty much done. You can confidently expect an update every week. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Best,  
> P and M

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated:
> 
> Howdy! We're so stupid happy with the reception this fic has gotten and all the kind comments and support we've received. Check out the end of the chapter for a little extra something from P! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Best,  
> P and M

It didn’t take long for everyone to learn about what almost happened at Haggar’s battle cruiser. It was strange to experience the retroactive fear, like a bite that stings but doesn’t quite puncture the skin. Keith was safe, but no one seemed able to comprehend it viscerally in the moment they learned about it.

 

Nobody’s said a word in ages. The clinking of their utensils against the not-porcelain bowls bounces off the walls far too loudly, setting Lance’s teeth on edge. He dares a glance up from his goo. Everyone’s head is down, focused on anything but eye contact.

 

This is not what he imagined in a reunion dinner feast.

 

It’s the fifth time Hunk has cleared his throat in the last twenty minutes when he finally sets down his spoon. Lance internally winces. The big guy’s barely touched his food and the creases around his eyes are just a little too strained for the friendly smile he wears.

 

“So, you had, like, a space parachute. Right?”

 

Oh, Hunk.

 

What Lance thinks must be the most horrible silence in the universe stretches into a small eternity across the table then. He looks at Keith, who sits frozen in his old chair, almost normal again in his stupid jacket and t-shirt. Almost.

 

“A parachute wouldn’t work in space, Hunk. It’s a vacuum.” Keith’s eyes are downcast as he says it, already knowing that he can’t fix this or make it funny. He tries anyway. It doesn’t feel like anyone breathes. “You’re an engineer. You already know that.”

 

Fuck, say something, say something, say something, _make a joke_ , McLain. Bring normal back – come on!

 

His mouth is too dry.

 

Hunk laughs. “But you were going to eject out of there.”

 

Keith doesn’t answer. Hunk must decide that he just doesn’t have an appetite tonight, because he gets up after a moment and leaves without a word. No one tries to stop him. Keith doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle. Lance thinks this must be what tense holiday dinners with backwards family feel like.

 

Shiro finally looks up from his plate with a cough. “Have you decided yet? Do you think you’ll go back with the Marmora right away?”

 

Keith meets his gaze, thankful for the change in topic. “I don’t know. If you think I can be useful here, then I’ll stay to help with the rift stuff.” There’s something a little hopeful in his voice that must be contagious because Lance feels it too.

 

“Keith, you’ll always be handy to have around here. It’s your choice, and I’m not sure what Kolivan’s plans are for upcoming missions, but we’d be ecstatic to have you back.”

 

Keith leans against the back of his chair, arms crossed. It’s not an abnormal position for him to be in. But, Lance catches the dark circles under his eyes, even though the small smile he offers Shiro, how his skin is afflicted with an unhealthy pallor.

 

“Yeah.” He tries to keep up the grin. “It sounds like you’ll need all hands on deck soon. I might as well stick around.” He looks down. “...At least until then.”

 

It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s just enough to let everyone ease up a little and return to their food.

 

A beeping starts suddenly, and Lance recognizes the sound as a communication request. He waves the rest of the group off. “You guys finish eating. I got the phone.”

 

“Not a phone, Lance,” Pidge calls.

 

“Figure of speech, Pidge!”

 

The jog to the bridge is quick. At his chair, Keith’s old chair, he opens the line up. It’s not a distress call; they just want to join the coalition. He prepares himself for a long boring talk about resource contribution and a bunch of other politicking he’s picked up from Allura. They’ve put the line on hold while they gather council members to join the call. Before they can get to it though, Shiro comes over to his station and reads over his shoulder.

 

“You know what? They’re not too far from us. We have time. We might as well all visit in person, stretch our legs a little.”

 

Lance looks up at him, puzzled. They haven’t bothered negotiating diplomacy in person since they figured out their broadcasting network months ago. They _don’t_ have time – not if they’re going to beat Haggar to the rift. “Shiro, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

 

Without even looking at him, Shiro starts typing into Lance’s station, downloading the coordinates. “Matt and Coran can handle things here. Besides, Slav needs time to work out a plan for closing the rift for good, and we’re not going to be much help there.”

 

Lance stands up to face him. “Yeah, maybe not you or me. But Pidge and Hunk are, like, super geniuses.”

 

“Lance, I understand what you’re saying, but…” With a sigh, the leader leans in to whisper, hedging a glance back towards the dining room. “Now is not a good time to split up the team like that again. Considering…recent events.”

 

“Then we shouldn’t go. Shiro, I’m all for some relaxation, but this might be the last chance we have to regroup at home base for a while,” he pleads one last time.

 

Shiro dismisses him again, and Lance tries not to let the sting burn too much. “Think of it as a bonding activity. Awkward diplomacy like the good old days.” Shiro claps his shoulder again with a warm smile and Lance does his best to return it.

 

* * *

 

 

They’ve landed in a large plaza in the center of a shining city. It has high glittering spires that rake through the clouds like fingers. The people look about ninety-five percent humanoid. The other five percent attributes to a stiffness Lance has never seen on Earth. A stiffness, a paleness, an aura of discomfort like they have a ruler up their ass. The kind with the metal sliver on the side that you threatened to slit a kid’s neck with on the playground.

 

Lance positions himself in formation with the rest of the team as they exit the ship. Keith steps up beside Lance and pulls his hood to cover his face.

 

Keith hasn’t said for sure if he’ll return to the Blade. But he isn’t wearing his paladin armor either. Lance can admit that he’s worried about it. He half-expected that Keith would put the armor back on for this. That he wouldn’t leave it gathering dust in the castle for another minute. Lance has thought about offering Red back to him. He’s thought about asking if Keith wanted Red back. He’s thought about just talking to him in general.

 

A representative comes to greet them. She’s followed by an entourage of officials all dressed flowing, floor-length robes, which seem contradictory to their harsh countenance. They appear color-coded to occupation or something. The representative has a mint color. She approaches Shiro and the group begins to walk.

 

As they walk up the stairs, Hunk shoots Lance a pointed look, eyes darting between him and Keith as an eyebrow raises. Lance waves him off until he shrugs and falls into step with Pidge.

 

Lance sticks close to Keith’s side. It kind of hits him then that this is the first time in months that he’s had someone to walk next to. He hadn’t noticed it before, but before he left, he was always at Keith’s side: walking with him, standing with him, glaring with him. Lance has missed the simple sound of their footsteps echoing in synchronization without even knowing it.

 

They follow the mint lady around the citadel for the grand tour. Keith continues to sulk, so Lance nudges his elbow.

 

“Okay, is it just me or do these guys seem way too proper?” He puts on his best mischief smirk as he whispers, hoping to draw Keith into their old line of banter.

 

Keith blinks. “What?”

 

“Like, they’re so formal! It reminds me of when my mom would make the whole family dress up for a portrait every year.”

 

Keith tries to hide it, but Lances catches the smallest twitch of a smile. “Well, they’re meeting the defenders of the universe. I guess it’s a big deal to them.”

 

“No, no, no, no, my bro. I think they’re like this all the time. Like, this seems normal to them.”

 

“Okay. So what?” Keith starts to look more amused, which, is great. Score one for Lancey-Lance.

 

He grins and leans over into Keith’s space so no one will overhear. He senses the other boy tense next to him but brushes it off. “So I bet that means they’re secretly giant kink-freaks.”

 

Keith laughs through his nose, trying to keep quiet as he snickers. Lance practically beams at the reaction. “Why did you put that image in my head? Gross.”

 

Lance bumps into his shoulder good-naturedly and wraps an arm around him. Very bro-like. “Like, okay. Hear me out: Miss Diplomacy up ahead. Can you imagine the _things_ that must go on after they clock out at four?”

 

“No!” he hisses between gasping laughs. “Don’t even go there. You’re disgusting – don’t make me think about that!”

 

Lance grins, high on that sweet, sweet validation that comes from greatly improving Keith’s mood. It’s nice to see him relax again, goofy and easy-going like he was before. He wants to keep it up, push it further, coast on this line of banter as long as he can. It’s a wonderful grooming for his ego, but he forgets to remember that he can take things too far.

 

“Yeah, not really what I’m into either. Personality is important and I get the feeling they don’t do casual. Plus, she’s the leader and probably too old for me.” He does a quick scan around the room, eyes randomly sticking to a girl that looks much closer to his age. He can’t really tell much about her from the formless clothes, but he knows a nice jawline and pretty eyes when he sees ‘em. “But her? I bet I could get her to _loosen up._ ” He winks and waits for the laugh.

 

It doesn’t come. Just like that, it’s gone – the amusement. Keith’s eyebrows drop and he yanks himself away from Lance’s hold, a mask of indifference washing over him.

 

“Can you control your annoying mouth for _one mission_?”

 

Lance reels. Because it’s been a while since Keith has _actually_ sounded angry with him. About anything. And they’ve had some light arguments about his flirtations before. They never escalated.

 

He pushes down the urge to get defensive. This is about something else – he can feel it. “Whoa, whoa, Keith –” He reaches for his arm. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he doesn’t want to fight. Not when they just got him back. Even if Keith is being kind of a salty bitch.

 

“ _Not_ now, Lance.” Keith jerks away, the motion so harsh that his hood falls from his face.

 

That’s when everything dissolves into one big clusterfuck.

 

Several gasps echo around them. Lance realizes they’ve been led to some sort of council room, so the acoustics for the dramatics gasps around them are great. The two of them look around at the stunned faces of the officers who had been walking with them.

 

“It cannot be –”

 

“It’s uncanny!”

 

“A true blessing!”

 

The rest of the paladins gaze warily at the murmuring crowd around them and realize all at once that every single pair of eyes is fixed on Keith.

 

The robed aliens make a beeline for the former paladin. Keith looks ready to fight, but a firm stare from Shiro restrains him. They’re here for diplomacy. Lance tries to stay close, but the council members swarm them too fast for Lance to remain by Keith without getting violent.

 

“You must come with us at once,” they insist.

 

“What? Why?” Keith backs away as they reach for him. “Hey! Hands off!”

 

Lance gets pushed to the edge of the frenzy. “What do you want with him?!” he demands.

 

The woman they were following earlier steps aside as the rest ignore Lance and press Keith out of the chamber. Lance catches a desperate glance thrown his way. He moves to follow but is held back by a guard he hadn’t even noticed positioned at the entrance.

 

The woman smiles at them, but it does nothing to settle their nerves. “They are taking him to the temple.”

 

“The temple?” Hunk asks.

 

“Yes! He is clearly an incarnation of Amans.”

 

Pidge adjusts her glasses. “And that is who, exactly?”

 

“The capital’s patron god. The god of desire, sensuality, and fertility.” Lance feels his jaw drop, but can’t be bothered to close it.

 

He can tell Shiro is struggling to remain collected, face contorted uncomfortably. “And why do you think Keith is your…sex…god?” And geez, that would be so much funnier if this wasn’t so disturbing.  

 

She only chuckles, and it’s then that Lance realizes how much this lady is getting on his nerves. She leads them to the back of the council room where she pulls aside a large curtain. Behind it, a huge mural stretches to the ceiling.

 

It looks exactly like Keith.

 

[Art from P!](https://pmwrites.tumblr.com/post/171038772097/the-mural-of-keith-from-our-fic-the-loverboy)

[More art! - stainedglassstar](https://stainedglassstar.tumblr.com/post/171212278616/someone-gave-keith-a-lil-shawl-to-cover-his-tummy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE!
> 
> Hi - this is P. We have art now! 
> 
> In case the link doesn't work:  
> https://pmwrites.tumblr.com/post/171038772097/the-mural-of-keith-from-our-fic-the-loverboy
> 
> Now more art from the incredible stainedglassstar:  
> https://stainedglassstar.tumblr.com/post/171212278616/someone-gave-keith-a-lil-shawl-to-cover-his-tummy


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura has a couple tricks up her sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This is P. First, we really appreciate the comments and feedback so far; it makes us feel all gooey and appreciated. Second, M and I decided we didn't want to wait a whole week and the thing was done so...here we are. Updates should now happen more or less every five days or so.
> 
> We would like to preface the rest of this fic by assuring you that there is absolutely no rape/noncon ahead. This is more or less a fluff piece. 
> 
> Happy reading,  
> P and M

The hair is longer, reaching down to the small of the figure’s back in smooth dark tresses, but it looks so much like him that Lance’s chest seizes. The painting’s arms are outstretched, palms and fingers curled, inviting and elegant. The arch of the spine is soft, strange red markings blooming across the hip bones and sides until they vanish beneath the fluttering crop top.

 

Hunk is latched onto his arm by then. “Guys, this is super freaky. I’m freaked.” And Hunk can sure add Lance to the tally because this is officially bonkers.

 

Allura turns to their host, an uncertain furrow between her brows. “Er, yes. I can see that they look similar. But I assure you that Keith is not a higher being.”

 

“Oh no, Princess. We understand that perfectly. But Keith _is_ an _incarnation_ of our great patron god. And he is not the first. We have had many before him, and we must follow the ancient rites.”

 

Lance holds onto Hunk. “And, uh, what are these rites?”

 

She beams at them. “For tonight, he will be pampered and attended to. Anything he wants, it is his. And then tomorrow, the competition begins!”

 

Lance is almost afraid to ask. “What kind of competition, exactly?”

 

“A tournament. The winner will prove themselves worthy of Amans’s blessing.”

 

Hunk straightens a bit. “Oh? That’s it? That’s not so bad, right?”

 

“Yes. The incarnate, Keith, will bestow the blessing of his virginity to the victor!”

 

The room goes dead silent.

 

The air flies from Lance’s lungs in a choked cough.

 

There’s a moment of whiplash, the receding water before a tsunami crashes into the shore.

 

“WHAT THE _FUCK?!_ ”

 

Lance doesn’t know who says it; maybe it’s him, but it doesn’t matter. The team erupts into a violent uproar of protest, eyes wide and voices pitched with acute aggression.

 

“That is _so wrong!”_

 

“That’s insane!”

 

“Haven’t you people ever heard of _consent?_ _!_ ”

 

She makes a placating gesture that is wildly unsuccessful. “Of course! Intimacy is an important part of our culture. And it is consensual! Amans’s act of incarnation is _itself_ an affirmation of consent. There’s no need to worry!”

 

“No way! That’s not happening! Keith isn’t this Amans guy! He doesn’t want this!”

 

Shiro emerges from the chaos, shoulders broad, brow set, feet planted firm. Protective space dad mode has been _fucking_ activated.

 

“You will take us to him. _Now_.”

 

The representative deflates, but not for long. “Alright then. We’ll find out if you can see him.”

 

Lance notes the stiffness everyone holds in their shoulders. How Pidge’s glasses glint dangerously, how Hunk pushes his chest to make himself seem even bigger, how Allura ties her hair up as she strides, how Shiro doesn’t seem to blink. He knows then, even without the mind meld or Voltron, that they are all thinking the same thing:

 

_‘No one is going to lay a hand on Keith.’_

 

The perks of belonging to a die-hard space family, right?

 

They reach the temple. It’s a beautiful structure with torches lit on every outcropping and ledge. The woman leads them to the entrance, where two workers scrub spilled ash out of the floorboards. Lance is willing to bet good money that Keith finally tried to fight around here and knocked over one of the many incense trays.

 

The thought makes him angry.

 

She stops them in the main room. Several guards line the only path up the stairs. An older woman with a shaved head appears from the second floor, swimming in her crimson robes.

 

“Ah, the Voltron paladins,” she greets. Her voice reminds Lance of a creek, bubbly but coarse over the rapids. “How nice to meet you.”

 

“Take us to Keith,” Shiro commands.

 

She doesn’t waver. At her gesture, the guards relax in their positions, the stairwell opening before them. “Of course. He’s asked to see you.” They all start to move forward, but her hand flies up. “Only one,” she says. “His chamber must remain as undisturbed as possible. Only one may enter. Family, perhaps?”

 

Everyone trades meaningful stares until they all land on Shiro. Allura makes a point to grab his hand and squeeze it in a show of support. He stares at her for a moment, then releases a deep breath and follows the woman upstairs, fists clenched.

 

* * *

 

 

Keith jerks when the door opens. When he sees Shiro step into the extravagant room they’ve trapped him in, he breathes a huge sigh of relief.

 

They meet in the center, Keith almost tripping on the dark red robes they’ve had him change into, Shiro pulling him into that familiar embrace with a pat on the back. “Keith, are you alright? No one’s hurt you?”

 

He shakes his head as he pulls away. “No. I’m fine.” He plops on a plush sofa near the window, which he's considered hopping out of.

 

“Do you know what’s happening?”

 

Keith flushes to the tips of his ears as he crossed his arms. “Yeah. They, uh, told me what they think is going on.” A short silence stretches between them before Keith finally caves in on himself and meets Shiro’s concerned stare. “Shiro… I am really, _really_ uncomfortable right now,” he admits.

 

Shiro is at his sidinat an instant, arm curling around him. “I know. But don’t worry. We won’t let anything happen to you.” He nods, grateful. He trusts his team with his life. Shiro looks away and clicks his teeth in a rare display of frustration. “I should have listened to Lance. He told me coming here was a bad idea.”

 

Keith smiles a little. “I know the feeling. He’s not a complete doofus when it counts.”

 

Shiro nods, a knowing smirk crossing his features. Keith pretends vehemently not to notice. “I’ll try to remember that. For now though…” We try to play along, the unspoken suggestion hangs in the air.

 

Keith huffs under the weight of Shiro’s arm. “This is so, so stupid. What are we going to do?”

 

The sort-of brothers sit quietly for a moment while they think. “Well,” Shiro finally starts, “they mentioned a tournament. And I can’t imagine any stronger competitors than the defenders of the universe.”

 

Keith looks torn. “So, what? I’m supposed to sit here and play damsel in distress? Dude in distress? Whatever?”

 

“For now, yes. It doesn’t sound like they want anything from you until after this competition. You should be safe for now.” Not that the thought puts either of them much at ease. “Do you still have your knife?”

 

His scowl turns from irritated to livid. “No! They took it. I knocked some shit over trying to get it back. I want it back _now_.”

 

Shiro sighs. “I’ll get it for you. We won’t leave without it.”

 

“Thank you, Shiro.”

 

He passes a hand across Keith’s back, rubbing it soothingly. “I mean it. Everyone is ready to tear this place apart the second it looks bad. We have plenty of allies in the coalition. We can live without this one if we have to.”

 

Keith stares at him, jaw tight. “But you can’t do that! The mission –” He stops himself, jerking a little. He gently pries Shiro’s arm off of him. “The mission is more important. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Keith, that’s not how this works.” There’s a minute of Shiro fighting for Keith’s gaze before he finally takes both of his shoulders and forces it. “We’re a team. That means we watch out for each other. I know it was different with the Blade, but you have to remember what we stand for too.

 

“You’re still a paladin.” Keith’s eyes widen and he can’t stand the hurt on Shiro’s face when he sighs. “Keith. Everyone is worried about you. You keep talking about the mission like it’s something you will always have to sacrifice yourself for and it’s not true. The best thing you can do for our cause is to let us take care of you like you take care of us. We need you for the whole ride, bud.”

 

Keith looks away when Shiro squeezes his shoulders, shutting his eyes tight.

 

Shiro backs off, giving him air to process. Keith knows what Shiro’s doing. He knows he doesn’t need to say more.

 

“Come on. I think they’ll kick me out soon. Let’s leave this on a good note?”

 

Keith takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry that turned into…whatever.”

 

“I don’t think things will get that bad. We can handle this cleanly. Just know that we’ve got you no matter what and that we care about you. Just like I said before.”

 

Keith offers him a warbled smile and restrains the teary burn behind his eyes at the memory of his departure. “And I still appreciate it. More than you guys will ever know.” Shiro clasps his forearm and pulls him in for a hug – their special hug.  

 

That’s when the old woman knocks and announces that Shiro must leave. They clasp hands one last time.

 

When Keith looks down at his palm after they leave, he smirks at the sight of Allura’s earrings nestled in the crevices of his palm.

 

* * *

 

It’s late. It’s so, so late, but Lance can’t sleep. He steals an envious glance at Hunk, snoring away from his half of the shared room they’ve been granted. With a huff, he rolls onto his side and starts to pick at a loose thread on the pillow. His chest feels tight with nerves.

 

He really regrets the stuff he said to Keith. His joke turned out to be true in the worst possible way _and_ he somehow upset the emo prince for real. Keith was already beyond bummed out and like, probably diagnosably depressed or something; he didn’t need Lance to go making it worse.

 

Lance bites his lip thinking about it. He’s supposed to be Keith’s right hand, even if he’s not the black paladin anymore. He failed to protect him today in every sense of the word. The realization sits poorly in his stomach.

 

Their room is fancy beyond imagining. These people have a thing for fountains; the entire opposite wall is a soothing cascade of water. Right now though, even that sound is too much for him, overstimulating. Lance finally sits up to steal away onto the balcony for some fresh air when he sees his helmet flash from its discarded spot on the floor.

 

With a quick glance at Hunk to make sure he hasn’t woken up, Lance snatches the helmet and closes the balcony door behind him as quietly as he can. He shivers through the loaned pajamas as he slips the device over his head, its circumference familiar against his skull.

 

“Guys? Is anyone there?”

 

“Keith!” Lance grips the railing, knuckles going white. “How are you talking to me? I thought they took everything?”

 

He hears a light shuffling from the other end, and then the familiar rasp of Keith’s smuggest chuckle in his ears. “Shiro snuck me Allura’s earrings. I put them on once these creeps finally left me alone for the night. I didn’t think anyone would still be awake though.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Well, we’re sharing rooms and you know how much Hunk snores.”

 

A pause. A deep breath, sick with something exhausted and hollow. “Right.” That doesn’t sound right. Keith should laugh again there, not sound so…resigned.

 

Lance can see the temple’s torches through the trees if he squints a little. He wonders if Keith is looking back out the window. “Um, how are you holding up, man? I know this is all really weird and creepy. Shiro’s looked ready to maim someone since we had to leave earlier.” That much is true. Lance hasn’t been this terrified of their leader since he saw him blow up at Slav back at Beta Traz.

 

“I bet.”

 

Lance waits. He gets nothing else. “…Keith? C’mon. You can talk to me. I’m, like, your right hand for life, remember?” he tries, softness and  a twinge of desperation scratching his vocal chords.

 

“...For...life?” And he sounds shy when he asks, words halting and jerking like a bad student driver. The implications run through Lance and he can feel the tips of his ears flushing.

 

“Oh. Well, I mean. Uh... I guess I assumed it went without saying? Y’know? That I’ve always got your back? That we all do?” Okay, this is not the time to practice his falsetto range, thank you, feelings.

 

“Yeah. Thanks, Lance.” There’s a stretch of silence that Lance knows better than to disturb. He takes a little pride in knowing that he remembers the rhythm of these conversations, how to wait and prod gently. Lance thinks they might be getting better at this whole, talking to each other thing. “I talked with Shiro earlier about most of it. Just that’s it’s…super uncomfortable, I guess? I mean, they were just _watching_ me all day.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Lance says.

 

“Why? You didn’t do anything.”

 

“If I hadn’t upset you earlier or if I didn’t let you get separated –”

 

“Lance, stop. It’s not your fault. I would have shown my face eventually and there was no way for us to stop them without getting physical. We didn’t know.”

 

“Still,” he protests. “I went too far. That was like, a super sexist fuck-boi thing to say and I didn’t think about how it would like, I don’t know, affect you. I was just…”

 

“Just what?”

 

“I dunno. You’ve been...down since before you even left and I guess I was trying to get a rise out of you. Or something.”

 

He hears something like crickets chirping through the connection. Keith must have stepped onto a balcony too. “You were...trying to make me feel better?”

 

“Um. Yes?” Lance takes a deep breath, trying to regain whatever composure he has left. “So I’m sorry I just made it worse. I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t, like, actually…” Why is he still talking?! He can stop now! “I mean, I know I flirt and stuff, but I wouldn’t, y’know…I’m not that tasteless.”

 

He hears more rustling fabric, a deep sigh. He pictures Keith leaning against the rail, looking back out towards him past the treeline. “...I know. You’re a real sappy romantic when it comes down to it.” And that’s a weird thing for Keith to notice about him. Lance blinks in confusion because Keith said that like he’s _thought about it before._ “Look, it’s fine. I’m not mad at you. I overreacted. I’m sorry too.”

 

“But if I’d just thought about it before I opened my mouth…”

 

Lance can almost hear Keith roll his eyes. “Uhg. Drop it already. You can owe me a milkshake when we get back and then we’ll call it even. Fair?”

 

“I thought you were lactose intolerant?”

 

The angry huff crackles through the static and makes Lance feel a little bubbly in his fingertips, unable to resist the spreading grin. “Only a little! And the Blade of Marmora doesn't have any sugary food! I haven’t had anything for months!”

 

"I didn't know you had a sweet tooth," he grins.

 

"I am dead serious when I say that the only thing I actually miss about Earth is fast food. I’m going through withdrawal."

 

Lance laughs and leans his chest against the rail. They spend the next hour or so debating the merits of different fast food chains.

 

“Arby’s?”

 

“ _Yes._ Fuck, they have the best curly fries, Lance. And cherry turnovers.”

 

They’re giggling and joking around into the night. He realizes that this is what Keith wanted from him when he called – a distraction. Keith is fierce and independent and so, so  _fighty_. Lance imagines this is the only thing that will calm him down when he’s stuck in a position he has no control over.

 

He wonders if this is what’s Keith’s been craving since he got back. Just a nice normal talk about the best fries and burgers – not about sacrifice and war.

 

He clambers up onto the rail, letting his leg dangle over the edge as he stares out at the temple. Lance is more than happy to provide.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trials Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! 
> 
> M here. We are so pleased to see everyone's response to the last chapter! When P first showed me that chapter I knew I was in for a fluffy Klance-filled adventure. 
> 
> We hope you enjoy this next chapter!
> 
> -P and M

The next morning, he wakes up with a crick in his neck, Hunk leaning over him with confusion and a soft, “Dude?” He gets up from his slumped position on the balcony. With a yawn, he stretches and throws on his armor, ready to go out there and defend Keith’s honor or whatever it is they’re doing.

The stadium is huge. The crowd is huge. They gather at the entrance and meet the same representative from yesterday, her mint robes swishing happily around her feet as she approaches.

“There you are! I’ve been told that you would like to compete for Amans’s blessing? We welcome you, of course.”

Allura doesn’t bother with her normal pleasantries, her face neutral. “Where do we go?”

She blinks, holding a tablet to her chest. “Oh, since you are our esteemed guests, you have the honor of the first match. Just tell me which one of you is competing and I’ll show you to the wing. There are three different challenges.”

Hunk steps forward. “Wait, what do you mean ‘which one of us?’ Aren’t we all competing?”

How is she still smiling? Don’t her cheeks hurt by now? “No, I’m afraid you can’t. Though you aren’t related by blood, it’s clear to the council that the paladins of Voltron operate as something like a family unit. Our laws state that each family may only send one representative.”

Again, the team starts to look to Shiro, but the woman releases a horrified shriek. “No! Absolutely not! You entered the temple yesterday on the precedent of familial relations! He is your brother! You _cannot_ compete!”

Pidge stomps her foot. “Are you serious?! Keith’s our friend! How are we supposed to pick?”

She gasps again, this time with delight. The team frowns. “What a wonderful idea! You all have a special connection with the incarnate already! He will pick! I’ll be right back!” With that, she runs off, robes flying.

They wait in a huff of thinly-veiled fury for her to return. Hunk faces the group with a deep frown that reminds Lance of their first run in with Rolo and Nyma.

He remembers how Keith saved his sorry ass when he was tied to a tree.

“Okay, I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve had it up to here!” Hunk whispers, but only barely. “This is Keith we’re talking about! That’s my friend they’re getting ready to hand off like a medieval bride and I am so  _not_ about that. I say we bust him out and leave. They’re the ones who want Voltron so badly – why should _we_ jump through hoops?”

Pidge nods furiously. “I’m with Hunk. This is a waste of our time. And I know Keith is as tough as they come, but he can’t be doing well by himself like this. Like, emotionally and stuff,” she grimaces.

Lance is ready to pitch his agreement when Shiro sighs. “I know this is bad. But for right now, Keith isn’t in any real danger. We have to consider what will happen if we just bail on a planet because of a perceived insult. Our allies  _need_ to trust us. If they hear that we couldn’t talk through a cultural miscommunication, that’s bad news. We can’t be fickle.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right, he’s Shiro.

Lance looks up from the ground when he feels Allura’s hand on his shoulder. “I know we all want Keith back. But this must be our plan for now.”

Just then, the representative returns. She holds a bundle of clothing in her arms, an excited grin stretching across her face. “Amans’s incarnate has chosen! Which one of you is Lance, again?”

Lance blinks stupidly. 

 

* * *

 

“Shiro, this is nuts! Why would he pick me? Oh my god I’m gonna fail and then Keith is gonna have to have sex with an alien or we’ll break up our alliance and piss off everyone in the coalition and then no one will support Voltron and Zarkon will take over the universe and we’ll all get blown up and it’ll be my fault!”

“Lance, calm down. Keith chose you because you’re our most adaptable teammate and because he trusts you. You can do this.”

Lance paces in the wing of the stadium, ruffling his hair in distress. He’s dressed in the ceremonial outfit the woman brought him – a tight black bodysuit adorned with a sheer blue tunic that shimmers in the sunlight. He has ankle high blue boots that are a little too tight. Lance resists the urge to run a hand down his face; he doesn’t want to mess up the makeup they’ve painted on him.

As fucked up as this is, he has to admit that the blue really brings out his eyes.

“Okay, I appreciate the flattery and all, but this is not the time. Allura would be so much better for this than I am! She’s a badass! All I do is shoot stuff; Allura’s been training with different weapons since she was a kid.”

The badass in question yanks him by the collar to stop his pacing. “Lance, listen to me.” Allura’s eyes glisten with determination. “Even if these people are mistaken about Keith’s identity, they aren’t mistaken about the importance of trust. This is about proving that _you_ are the most worthy of Keith’s trust. He knows that you are. Trust _his_ decision in turn.”

The horns outside blare and all he has time to do is nod before he rushes out to the field. At one end of the structure stands a massive section of elevated seating for the council. Lance lines up in a row with the other competitors as the old woman from the temple takes center focus. Her voice rings out over the crowd as she welcomes everyone. The people in the stands are cheering so loudly that Lance can feel it rattle his teeth. Once she finishes, the stadium lights go dark but for a handful of spotlights that focus on the end of the field.  

A trapdoor opens from the ground so that a special platform can rise into the air, carrying Keith on it. A band plays a sensational and magnificent march. It’s spectacularly dramatic. Keith definitely hates it.

The old woman explains how they found Keith, how he’s extra special because he’s with Voltron, and blah-de-blah-de-blah. Lance isn’t listening to a word of it, so focused as he is on Keith. Lance can see him fidget minutely under all of the attention.

They’ve dressed him like the mural painting from the antechamber. He has the same flowy red crop top and loose pants that fit almost like a skirt around his hips. The strange markings are there too, painted on his skin, stretching up along his sides and arms until they stop to cup his jawbone. Lance tries not to giggle when he takes in the sight of what must be hair extensions and imagines how difficult it must have been to wrestle Keith into them. Some of it is tied up while the rest is free to hang at Keith’s waist. Lance can’t tell from this distance without his scope, but he’s willing to bet good money that there’s eyeliner and makeup involved in the ensemble as well.

He jerks in his spot when Keith’s eyes find him across the field. The music thunders up again with the applause. Keith nods once.

It’s time to start. 

 

* * *

 

Lance is up first, as promised. He does his best to shake out the nerves that are clamping up his muscles as he steps into the center.

“The first task,” the old woman’s voice echoes through the loudspeaker, “is a test of devotion. Passion is the fire that drives us to be committed to another person. To be worthy of this blessing of love, you must prove that you are fierce enough to protect it.”

Lance thinks about shooting that knife out of the air before it could touch Keith. He thinks about Keith pulling him out of the airlock all that time ago.

“Each of you will face a different beast. You must immobilize it by whatever means necessary. First challenger: Lance of Voltron!”

Lance looks up and sees his face plastered on the giant holographic screens that loop around the stadium. He shoots a confident smirk at wherever he thinks the cameras are.

Panels open in the circular wall around him, revealing dozens of different weapons. He only has a second to let his eyes find a bow and quiver of arrows. Advanced weaponry is apparently not a part of tradition. Lame. Before he can tear of running, a loud screech rips through the air. The giant gate opposite of him slides open to reveal what he only describe as a giant, mean, space lobster.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” he mumbles.

“Fry that son of a bitch with butter, Lance!” He releases a nervous chuckle at Pidge’s hollering in the distance.

It charges him, hulking and fast, front claws the size of his whole pathetic human body swinging. He rolls out of the way, but his foot gets clipped by one of the spindly legs. He tumbles, but uses the momentum to right himself and make a break for the weapon wall.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” he chants between panting gasps.

The stupid thing is still screaming at him as his long fingers secure the bow. He slings the quiver around his back, immensely grateful for the archery targets they stuck to haystacks at that farm he worked at one summer. Who knew cow milking and haystack shooting would be so helpful in a space war?

He lets one arrow fly at the beast, watches it bounce off the hard exoskeleton. It charges him again like a bull.

Lance thinks that now would be the time for a record scratch and freeze frame. ‘Yup,’ he’d voice over. ‘That’s me. I bet you’re wondering how I got into this mess.’ And then there’d be a fun theme song and corny introduction sequence.

He really misses bad earth television.

He swerves, violent and frantic, to avoid getting his head lopped off by the alien lobster that’s _still_ screeching at the top of its lungs.

Keith and his stupid pretty face owe him big time.

Breathing hard, he tries to pick out any obvious weak spots the thing has, but it’s covered in armor. His arms strain when he pulls back the second arrow. It whips for the lobster’s eye but skims off the hard bridge of its nose. This would be so much better if he had an actual gun.

Lobster Larry – that’s what Lance has named him – raises his claw again. The next thing he knows, he can’t breathe, the air punched out of him when his back hits the wall in an ugly gasp. He can hear the crowd on their feet, a buzzing sensation in his hands as everyone watches him fall. He wonders if Keith is wishing he’d picked Allura.

That awful screeching blares around him like when his baby niece would throw tantrums.

Lance trembles under his own weight as he lifts himself up. The bow is snapped in half at his feet.

“Not good,” he coughs. The monster rears back, getting ready for a final charge Lance isn’t honestly sure he can survive.

He glances at Keith, high above him and encased in a mini particle shield to protect him from the crowd. His hands are pressed against the barrier, eyes wide as they stare down at him. Keith picked  _him_ to do this. Keith trusted  _him_. Lance promised to be his right hand for life.

He remembers the way Keith disappeared down the hall in his Marmora suit for the last time. He remembers telling Allura that he wouldn’t let Keith down, Red roaring for him like a bugle. _“You won’t have to.”_

He’s not going to let him down.

And maybe the best way to protect Keith is to think like him.

He grips one of the arrows like a knife and runs straight at the beast. The crowd seems to hold their breath. It’s upon him now, ready to crush him into the dirt, but he slides at the last possible second, and if he screams a little no one really has grounds to judge him for it. He plunges the arrow into its soft underbelly and slides out on the other side. Without bothering to look back, scrambles to his feet and tries not to think about how much more gracefully Keith could have done that. Without terrified screaming.

He snags the long whip off the wall and coils one end in his hand, tying it in a loop. Time to channel every ounce of Allura’s ass-kicking skills. He sees himself in the holo-screens, caked with dirt and sweating. Jeez, he can’t catch his breath. For what he hopes will be the last time, Lobster Larry charges and makes a swipe with a claw. Teeth grit, Lance hooks his shoddy lasso around it.

He holds fast when it swings again, this time to dislodge him and he goes sailing in the air. He lands on its back and hops down to the other side. He takes a mean knock to the ribs from one of the legs on the far back end of the claw he already has tied. Still, he pushes through and manages to tie the whip around the other leg. From there, all he does is get out of the way when the space lobster topples on itself, hogtied.

When the dust settles, Lance is propped on his elbows, nasty scrape on his cheek, ribs aching and bruised. He’s gasping for breath so hard that it hurts his throat going down, his chest heaving under the dirtied tunic. Finally, the monster stops moving and the buzzer sounds. He collapses on his back as the crowd cheers, Keith’s smirking face displayed on the monitors around him.

The warm buzz of relief settles in his chest at Keith’s easy gaze around him. Maybe he can do this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing Lance took that aerial silks class back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This is P. Again, all of that feedback is the lifeblood that sustains us, so thank you immensely. 
> 
> Now, are y'all ready for some FLUFF?!
> 
> Happy reading,
> 
> P and M

He didn’t have more than a few hours to rest before the next task. They’ve turned the stadium into a massive pool. The walls are glass so the crowd and cameras can see what happens underneath, and there’s a long bar that stretches all the way across it high above. Lance is ushered onto a floating platform along with the others and they’re carried up to the top.

The old woman’s face surrounds them in high definition again. “Welcome to the second task, competitors. Endurance and devotion are vital when it comes to loving someone. To be worthy of Amans’s blessing, you must prove that you have what it takes to hold on to what matters most no matter the cost. You must hang on, or be willing to weather rough tides until the end.”

“Well that was ominous.”

Lance and the other competitors – there are five less now, he notes – hover precariously above the bar and water. Without warning, the floating platforms vanish under their feet. Lance flails with a yelp, managing to catch the bar at the last second with one hand. Below, he hears three splashes. Not everyone caught it.

That’s three more out of the running. Cool. Minus three. Math is  _ fun _ .

He grips the bar with both hands, the tendons in his wrists flexing painfully from the strain already. Good thing he took that silks class. When he finally manages to look up from what might be his doom, he notices that he is eye-level with Keith. A hundred feet away sure, but eye-level. He flashes a cocky grin at the boy.  

Suddenly, the pain in his ribs from earlier returns tenfold. A foot jams into his side, and he twists away as the guy next to him on the bar tries to kick him down.

“Hey, what the heck, man!” Lance yells, swinging his torso and backing down the bar. Like the jungle gym at the park back home, he thinks.

“Nothing personal,” the douche calls back.

Their feet thrash at each other for a minute, neither gaining the upper hand. Lance wears out fast, gravity urging him to go to plunge into the depths of failure below. Ah, just like the Garrison.

Just as he readies himself to knock this asshole down, the bar in his hands disappears. Everyone remaining plummets with a lot of screaming. A second bar flashes into existence twenty feet down and Lance somehow hooks his knee on it. The douche he was fighting with snags onto his dangling arm. The resounding yank on his spine hurts like a bitch, and a pained grunt escapes through his teeth. The blood is rushing to his head and he needs to get this guy off him, like, yesterday.

He uses his free hand to grip the bar in addition to his leg. Then he starts to rock back and forth. And okay, maybe he enjoys a deep satisfaction at the fear that crosses the other guy’s face.

“¡Pendejo de mierda!”

Splash.

With a thin, breathless chuckle, Lance looks to the side. He still has four people to outlast. Back at the water, he sees the guy he just knocked off hasn’t surfaced yet. He doesn’t come up for another minute, and he’s spluttering and angry when he does.

‘He was holding his breath,’ Lance realizes. Spotting the other contestants who fell, he sees that they’re just getting out of the pool. ‘Even if we drop, if we can stay under until the last person gives up, we win.’

Three more splashes echo, one after the other as the clock drags on. His arms burn. His chest burns. His fingers are curled so tight he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to straighten them again. He’s locked in a stalemate with a muscled girl who’s breathing just as hard.

That’s when he feels his fingers slip. His arms give up without his permission. ‘No, no, no, no!’ The fall feels like it takes an entire minute. He barely has the thought to suck in as much air as he can before he crashes into the pool. The crowd collectively gasps.

His ears close up with the increased pressure and he feels his hair swish around in the water. He opens his eyes and can just barely see the blurry outline of the girl still hanging above.

Determined, Lance swims deeper. His lungs are already burning from the bar. Lance knows he’s a good swimmer, that he can hold his breath for a long while. He does it all the time when he lines up sniper shots. But he won’t be able to stay here long.

Near the bottom, he curls in on himself, bubbles escaping his mouth without his consent. The sound of a splash warbles through the water, but he doesn’t process it, the sound cloudy and distant. He presses his hands against his mouth and nose, eyes squinted shut. His head feels light. Through the glass, he hears the crowd screaming, faintly feels his limbs stretch up for the air above him.

He passes out.

 

* * *

“–ance? Lance?” He wakes up on a small medical bed, still soaking wet. There’s a hand against his cheek, and he leans against it with a groan. “Lance, wake up.”

“Whuzz goin’ on?” he asks before descending into a coughing fit. The hand moves to his back when he sits up, esophagus still shaking itself out.

“You nearly drowned yourself, you moron.”

“I nearly – Keith!” Lance gasps when he realizes who sits next to him on the bed. And oh, geez, Lance was right about the makeup. His eyeliner is sharp with red eyeshadow making his irises pop. Keith looks really fucking pretty, creepy circumstances aside. “Wait, are those not hair extensions?” he asks, fingers reaching to twirls the ends. Because he can’t see where they’d be threaded and it matches Keith’s natural color a little too well.

Keith goes completely deadpan and crosses his arms with signature irritation, but he doesn’t pull away. His cheeks are pink. “You know how Coran said that nunville makes a good hair tonic? They have super nunville.”

He wants to laugh. “Dang. My sister would be jealous.”

“I’m cutting it the second this is done with.”

“What?! But you finally got rid of the mullet!” he jokes, tugging playfully on the lock in his hand. It does the trick and Keith bats at him warmly with a laugh.

“Guess I’ll be a fashion nightmare just to spite you.” He clears his throat and hands Lance a small towel that was folded on the table nearby. “Are you okay? You scared us.”

He runs the cloth over his face and tries to dry his hair out. It just ends up sticking out in a bunch of different directions. His ribs still hurt. He’s woozy from, like, drowning. “Never better, Keithy. You’re talking to the Voltron sharpshooter, remember? I’m cool as a cucumber.”

And maybe he shouldn’t try to brush off Keith’s genuine concern. “Are you honestly joking right now?” Keith looks away from him, voice low and foreboding. “Don’t lie to me, Lance.”

“Wait – ”

He whirls on him then, crowding Lance’s space as he leans forward, accusatory. “What the hell? I know you’re not actually stupid! You only needed to make it to third place! You could have gotten yourself killed! That wasn’t worth it, Lance!”

Lance frowns and takes Keith in: the lines under his eyes, the unhealthy pallor of his skin that not even the makeup can hide. It seeps into Lance’s skin then, latching onto his nerve endings with a fierce bite. 

Keith is scared. He’s been scared since the start.

Lance makes a placating gesture. “Look. Maybe that wasn’t, like, my smartest move, but...” he starts, soft and quiet. He really hadn’t known about the third place thing (though he probably should have guessed), but there’s no sense in agitating Keith further. He looks down at the space between their legs on the sheets. A divide. A sigh escapes him. “...You were willing to die to protect us. This is the minimum of what I’m willing to do to protect you too.”    

Keith noticeably deflates, actually backs down. “...I’m sorry. I was worried,” he starts. “I know you’re just trying to help. It’s just. When I picked you, I didn’t think…I didn’t realize how much I was asking you to go through.”

Keith starts to lean away and Lance remembers Shiro saying something about Keith always anticipating rejection. 

Lance lets the honest urge to comfort wash over him and reaches for Keith, taking him by the elbows. They each have one leg folded under them and the other hanging off the bed. “I told you I’m your right hand. It’s like, super corny, but you can never ask too much of me. Not when it comes to keeping each other safe.” The honesty burns his tongue. His thumb strokes over Keith’s skin once.

Keith hesitates, but returns the gesture, hooking his fingers around Lance’s sore arms. “That’s not fair,” he says. And Lance doesn’t really know what he means by that, but he understands with aching clarity all the same.

“All’s fair in love and space-war.” He lets himself reach up and tuck some of Keith’s hair behind his ear. His hand lingers. “Or something. I guess. Still not a fun time.”

Keith’s cheeks are dusted with pink. “You’re right,” he laughs. “You’re right about a lot of stuff, actually. I told Shiro to listen to you more.”

Lance blushes – from the comment and the hair thing. “Oh. Um.” He blinks. “Wait, how did you get in here anyway? I thought you were like, the princess locked in the tower?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Does that make you my knight in shining armor?” Lance is smart enough not to answer that. “I kinda demanded to come check up on you. People tend to let you do what you want when they think you’re an ancient sex god.”

“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.” Lance realizes how they’re fit into each other, Keith’s hands on his arms, Lance’s still hovering by his cheekbone. It makes his fingertips buzz and the space between his lungs compress. It’s strange in how it isn’t all that strange at all.

This feels  _ right  _ for some reason _. _

But it can’t last forever. “They’re giving you and the others a rest day tomorrow. There’s some stupid banquet thing. Then the last challenge, and we can go back to Voltron stuff.” Lance notes the word, ‘we.’ Seeming reluctant, Keith takes Lance’s hand and pulls it away from his face. He slides away. Lance’s arms feel colder immediately. “Just…take care of yourself, okay? I have to leave now, but…”

Lance doesn’t want him to go. “Are you doing alright? With all this?” he asks to stretch the seconds out.

“It’s fine. I’ll be better when we’re done and I can fight some stuff again. Um. Say hi to the others for me? And thank Allura for the earrings. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to use them, but it’s just nice to have them. I guess.”

Lance stands from the bed. “Yeah, I’ll pass it along.” They’re not done talking, he can feel it at his throat.

Keith reaches for the door and pauses. Lance is reminded of their conversation all those months ago in Keith’s room. “Lance?” Just like then. “Thanks. For doing this. And I’ll always have your back too.”

“Always.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cliche ballroom scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This was probably my favorite scene to put together. It didn't originally exist in the outline, but a bunch of parts from scrapped ideas ended up working together nicely for this next segment. You can thank M's skill as an editor for catching that opportunity.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for the comments. We try to reply to what we can and we always appreciate them.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> P and M

“I’m not wearing it.”

The old woman smiles pleasantly at him, still holding that stupid crop top. He hates it. “Come now, young one.”

“ _No_. And _don’t_ call me that.”

“Holy incarnate or not, you’re very rude.”

“ _Yes_.” His arms are crossed over his bare chest and he is not putting the crop top back on. They grew out his hair, they put semi-permanent paint on him, they made him stay in this dumb temple away from his team – his family – just when he needed them most. They mounted him on a pedestal at the arena like a mannequin for display. He’s had it. And he. Is not. Wearing. The _fucking_ crop top.

He talked with Shiro a little last night over Allura’s earrings. It helped but only abated his nerves for so long. Patience yields focus, but the only thing he could focus on was his glorified captivity.

She sighs and lowers the fabric. “Very well. I know this must be overwhelming. We’ll find you something else.”

Keith doesn’t say thank you.

When he’s finally alone, he runs a hand across his face with a groan.

When Lance stopped moving in the pool, his heart seized the same way it did when they found Shiro’s lion empty. He sugar coated it earlier. He didn’t just demand to see Lance after they dragged him from the water to do chest compressions – he _literally_ threatened to kill the bald woman.

Keith has always been pretty in touch with his feelings. He may not always know why he feels what he feels, but it’s never been hard for him to figure out what goes on with himself emotionally. He’s more self-aware than people give him credit for. Which is why he can admit that going away with the Marmora for all that time did absolutely nothing to dampen his massive crush. Supermassive crush. Supermassive-black-hole-crush sucking him away into the abyss of Lance’s smile and eyes and the way he made Keith feel like he could be part of something bright.

So he might have moved beyond the crush stage.

He starts to think about what the heck is going to happen once this is all over and they’re back on the castleship. The team has tried to be discreet, Keith knows, with lingering glances and concerned frowns when they think he isn’t paying attention. Hunk’s miniature outburst at dinner the other night was the closest they’ve gotten to an actual discussion about it.

He knows Lance wants to talk about it, oddly enough. _“You were willing to die to protect us.”_ That was an invitation. Lance usually avoids intimacy at all costs, so the fact that he’s the one who’s been bringing all of this up with talk about being the right-hand, having each other’s backs, and… It says a lot. Keith doesn’t know if he’s ready for it.

To start, if they talk about his suicide run, he knows he’ll cry. It’s just a given. That’s opening a huge can of worms he doesn’t know if he can handle revealing to Lance. How Keith felt while he was away, how he feels about himself now, about their odd space family, about Lance. A conversation about Keith’s sacrifice turns into a conversation about Keith’s place in the universe, which is already depressing, and that turns into a conversation about ‘Keith and Lance.’

He knows he’ll tell him. He’ll blurt it out, and Lance won’t feel the same, but he’ll still _care_ because that what Lance does and that will be so much worse.

Before anything else, he wants them to be equals. _Partners,_ even if he’s not technically a paladin anymore. And they can’t be equals if Lance has to offer him pity over stupid unrequited feelings that have no place in a space war.

So why the hell did he pick Lance for the trial in the first place?

The old woman comes back with a longer tunic for him. Keith puts it on and guesses that he just couldn’t help himself. It felt right, and he trusts his instincts.

He thinks of Shiro – of Allura, Hunk, Pidge, Coran, and Lance. He was ready to do it. He was ready to throw his life away for them. It wasn’t even a question.

Saying goodbye to them in the first place had been one of the hardest things to do in his life.

Keith has known for some time how intensely he feels about his odd little family, stitched together haphazardly by a common cause. He loves each of them so much sometimes it’s unbearable.

As he smooths his hair, he has the sudden and strange thought that he could live the rest of his life curled in a ball with all of them pressed around him. He could sleep forever surrounded by their tenderness and affection, wrap it around like the security blanket he never had growing up.

All he wants right now is a big smooshy group hug, but this time he wants it to be happy. And he wants to feel a little braver. Just enough to kiss Lance on the cheek. Just once. Keith wants to let himself be in love with everyone and not worry about the war or training or dying. Just for a day.

Not today though. The ball is starting.

 

* * *

 

Lance can’t remember the last time he got to dress to the nines. A light blue cowl pools around his neck, tapering into the tunic below. Feeling the fabric of the pants underneath brush against his knees, he steps inside. The ballroom has minimalist architecture, letting the light and space of the room do the work. People mill about, laughing and dancing in patterns on the floor. He hasn’t seen Keith yet.

Allura pulls up next to him, eyeing the crowd. “Any luck?”

“No. I’m not even sure if he’ll be here. He says thanks for the earrings, by the way.”

She smirks. “That was rather clever of me, wasn’t it?”

He grins and nudges her. “Heck yeah it was.” Just then, a horn goes off, and the room seems to split like the Red Sea. Allura elbows him a little hard, but it draws his attention to the entrance. There, Keith and his overbearing entourage make their way through the crowd and up to a small platform on the other end of the room.

Keith makes eye contact briefly when he comes through and Lance nods.

The bald woman takes her place as the announcer again, arms held wide as she smiles at everyone. “Tonight we celebrate! Let us begin with a dance for each contender with Amans’s incarnation.” Lance sees Keith’s eyes go wide in a small panic. He was clearly not briefed about this. “As our honored guest, Lance of Voltron shall go first.”

There’s a lot of pleasant snobby clapping around him as he steps to the center to join Keith. They’re given a wide berth and Lance holds his hand out with a gulp. Their cheeks burning, Lance pulls him into a traditional ballroom hold, hand at his waist.

The music starts, and Keith lurches a little to match Lance’s steps. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he hisses, staring at their feet.

“I thought you were Mr. Instinct?” Banter, yes, he can do banter. That’s normal.

Purple irises flick to him in irritation. “Not the same thing, Lance.” With a small smile and a reassuring squeeze at Keith’s hand, he slows them down enough for Keith to follow along. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“Older sisters. Quinceañeras. And I took dance lessons when I was a kid,” he says with a shrug.

Keith starts to settle into the motions, daring to look up from their feet, his hold on Lance’s shoulder relaxing. “Right. The silks thing. I almost forgot.” They sway nicely, and Lance starts to pull them into some more complicated movement, twirling around the space.

“You watched that?”

“Watched you embarrass yourself? Yes.”

“Hey, that was the Lance Leggy Lollapalooza! It was art!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Wow. I didn’t know you were smart enough to know how to alliterate.”

Lance throws him into a spin, yanking him back to his chest in retaliation. “I’ll have you know I’ve got two languages up in this brain to get confused about words over. How many do you have?” Keith doesn’t answer, suddenly embarrassed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought, mullet.”

“But my hair’s long now.”

“It’s more of a personality trait at this point,” Lance laughs, feeling the heat of Keith’s back pressed against his fingertips, the curve of his spine.

“How is it a personality trait? That doesn’t make sense!”

“See? That right there. Very mullet-y.”

“What?!”

“You’re just proving my point now,” he hums.

And Lance is not ready for what comes out of Keith’s mouth next. He stops functioning. Lance.exe. has stopped working. Error. Error.

“Well, I guess that means you secretly liked my hair. Since…you like me?”

Error. Error.

“I mean, right hand, right? We’re friends now? So you have to like me at least a little. Like, beyond the stupid rivalry thing.” And Keith sounds so tentative Lance can hear that small rasp on the vowels that only happens when Keith is laying himself bare. It’s a lot, to recognize all of these vulnerabilities that paranoid, hot-headed, fighty, Keith of all people is willing to share with him.

So Lance does what Lance does and tries his best. No jokes for once, although that would be a lot easier. He has trouble keeping eye contact. “Um. Yeah, man. I don’t think people go through what we’ve gone through together without at least that much. We’re friends. One hundred percent.”

Something he said snapped at Keith somehow, because his indigo eyes spark with _something._ He surges forward a little, brow cocked, still unsure, but goddamn if he doesn’t look determined. “At least?”

The music stops. They receive applause and then the girl he faced off against earlier steps forward. She extends a polite hand and Keith braces himself. Lance presses gently at the small of his back and leans over to whisper in his ear. “You’ve got this. We’re all nearby.” With that, he steps away and retreats into the throng. Allura catches his eye across the way with a knowing smirk that he ignores. He doesn’t watch the other dances.

 

[The Dance (art)](https://pmwrites.tumblr.com/image/171172500887)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now there's more art!
> 
> In case the link doesn't work: https://pmwrites.tumblr.com/image/171172500887


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's middle school should have pushed the D.A.R.E. program harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> M here! It is so lovely to read all of the comments you all leave us. We adore seeing how you respond to each chapter. On that note, we hope you enjoy this one! Lance is in for quite the adventure. ;)
> 
> -P and M

A couple hours of forced mingling and small talk later, Lance starts to think that this really isn’t so bad.

“Contender Lance!”

He spoke too soon.

Stupid representative lady sidles up to him with that overly peppy grin. It reminds him of all the evil cheerleader characters from tv back home. He gets the feeling that she’s about to frame him for cheating on a well-to-do girlfriend as part of her nightmare hazing ritual for the cheer squad. And then she’ll dump him on the curb covered in fruit punch or something.

“Hi, again,” he grits out.

“I’m so glad I found you. There’s one last part of our traditional ball that we’d like you to participate in.” Oh she’s definitely setting him up. That’s what all the cheerleaders say.

“Sure, lead the way,” he says, like a dumbass.

All of his competition stands in a neat row at the front of the ballroom at attention. They each receive a glass of a clear liquid that smells way too sweet to be water. The representative lifts a toast to the contenders after a long speech and Lance doesn’t think too hard about swallowing the thing down. It’s no more than a shot, really.

He sees Keith across the room watching him, surrounded by guards.

A warm buzz trickles down his throat and into his stomach. He stumbles through the crowd a bit once they’re dismissed. He wants to talk to him again, maybe use a dance as an excuse. He feels lightheaded and finds himself at on the periphery of the dancing, staring over a sea of bodies blankly.

He is left with a fuzzy feeling in his gut, like someone poured a bucket of puppies over his heart. His vision is a little blurry, but he doesn’t mind, cheeks warm. He decides to search for the angsty space mullet, and immediately faceplants into Hunk’s chest.

“HUNK!” he hollers. He loves Hunk. He needs to tell him that right now. “Have I ever told you how great you are? Like, really, really great. You’re so smart but you never, like, brag about it. So cool.”

“Lance, are you okay? What happened? I couldn’t find you for a while and Allura saw you get dragged off by that diplomat.”

“Allura! She’s great too! She makes such a good paladin and princess and dimple...? Dippin – what you said just a second ago!”

“Shit.” Lance almost frowns, because Hunk doesn’t cuss that often, but he’s too happy to really process it. “Okay, Lance? I’m gonna need you to hold yourself up for me. Here, take my arm.”

Lance hadn’t even realized he nearly fell over, but he’s happy to hug Hunk’s beefy arms of manly support anytime. The room seems to spin away from him for a little, and the next thing he knows he’s staring up at Hunk’s concerned face from his bed.

“I _swear_ if these psychos kidnapped Keith and drugged _my best friend_ I’m actually going into a rage. Yellow and I are making like Miley Cyrus and _wrecking_ this place.”

“Let me do a bio-scan on him. You told Shiro and Allura, right?” Lance giggles and then gasps when he notices Pidge on his other side with her holographic screen out.

“Pidge is here!”

“Yeah, Lance. Can you hold still while I figure this out?”

He flops back onto the bed with a sigh. “You can figure anything out, Pidgey. It’s so cool. I’m the youngest sibling back home, but now I live with you in a _space_ _castle_ , so it’s kinda like _I_ get to be a big brother sometimes. Not that Matt isn’t, like, your real brother, but it’s nice. You’re nice, Pidge.”

If she’s blushing, he doesn’t notice because he passes out after that.

 

* * *

 

From there, shit gets fucking weird.

It’s one of those rare occasions when he’s aware that he’s dreaming. Everything blurs around the edges and it’s like he can touch the way the dirt smells. He misses mud puddles. He recognizes the vague shape of his bedroom in the castle morphing into existence around him. The details aren’t quite right – he’s missing the game console – but he knows it’s his.

He’s waiting for someone. He waits for a long time.

His door slides open and Keith walks in, hair long, in the traditional garb of the fucked-up planet. Only, it isn’t Keith. The brows are too thin. His nose is too prominent on the wrong slope, like algebra – he remembers that from before the Garrison. He hated parabolas. The wrists are too bony; they are built for beauty rather than strength and sword-slinging.

“You’re right about that. I was never much for fencing,” the doppelganger says, and the dulcet tone is much too smooth to be Keith’s raspy boyish voice.

“This is my space. You shouldn’t be here,” Lance says with conviction that somehow that particular arrangement of words make sense. Dream logic. It’s fucking wild.

The man waves good-naturedly. “Sorry, sorry! Couldn’t help myself. You seem to be in a bit of a…what’s your cute little earth idiom for it? Pickle? I don’t know what a pickle is, but that’s just darling. So colloquial. I wish my people were more casual.”

Lance wakes up a bit from the dream logic, eyes wide. “You’re Amans.”

“Yup.”

“You’re a god.”

“Ah, no.” The person who looks like Keith but most definitely isn’t Keith sits next to Lance, clothes floating as if suspended in air. “Just a really powerful mage who lived, like, thousands of years ago.”

Lance leans away slightly, brow twisted with scrutiny. “But they said you are? And you’re _here_ ,” he points out.

“Pfffft. Look, kiddo. If I was a god, then I couldn’t get STDs. And when I was alive, I _definitely_ did. So, no. Not a god. Just a magical guy who loves to love.”

Lance repeats, “You’re _here_.”

“Oh, right. Blah-blah-blah, I had a lot of magic when I was alive, blah-blah-blah, boring technical details, blah-blah-blah, I attached my quintessence to that temple because that’s where I practiced. Now I’m a cool ghost thing. There. Exposition delivered.”

“So Keith isn’t..?”

A laugh. “Absolutely not. It’s a big universe; of course there’ll be people who look alike. You’ve probably got a few doppelgangers out there yourself.” The not-god turns to Lance and takes his hands. “Look. We don’t have much time before you wake up and I can’t impart my awesome wisdom.”

The room shifts around them until they’re standing in front of the real Keith. Amans floats behind Lance, hands perched on his shoulders to whisper in his ear. It must be the room they’ve locked him in since the first day.

“Is this?”

“Real time. But he can’t see us. And you can’t hear him.”

“Are you the ghost of Christmas future or something? Because that’s what this feels like.”

“I don’t know what that is. You’re an alien.”

“No, I had a student visa,” Lance asserts.

Keith paces the room, shirtless. Lance gulps when he refocuses on him. He’s wearing Allura’s earrings and talking fast into them, shoulders tense. His hair is pulled away from his face in a loose bun that shows he obviously doesn’t know how to handle the longer strands.

Lance thinks about braiding it back for him. They’d sit together in the lounge or one of their rooms. They’d talk. Or they wouldn’t. Either would be okay. Lance likes talking though, so he imagines they’d talk. Keith would give him silly gossip about how the Blade of Marmora all like space Yahtzee or something. Lance would pull the hair away from his face, soft and gentle like he thinks they could be together, if given the chance.

Together?

Lance feels Amans’s polished nails dig into his skin a little harder, voice sliding around him. “Look at him, Lance. I don’t know much about you two. But I know people. I know connection. And I know that you don’t know yourself right now. You’d fight for him differently if you did.”

There are tears prickling at Lance’s eyes and he doesn’t know why. Yes he does. No he doesn’t. He takes a deep breath. “I know myself,” he protests.

Amans puts his head on Lance’s shoulder. “You’re angry with him.”

“I’m not.”

“It’s alright.” It doesn’t feel that way. It never has with Keith. “You can be angry with the people you love.”

“I-I _don’t_ –” He cuts himself off. They wait and watch Keith sit down with a sigh before removing the earrings. He frowns at them. He absently scratches at a new scar on his stomach that Lance doesn’t remember. A new scar. He scratches absently at it. Like it’s nothing.

It’s not nothing. It’s Hunk walking out of dinner.

Keith looks out the window to the balcony Lance stood on that night.

Lance still wants to dance with him.

He blinks, and the walls blur until they stand in nothingness.

Amans circles him gently, voice sonorous. “Why are you angry with him?”

“He left.”

“No. You’re angry at _yourself_ for that. Why are you mad at _him_?”

He’s breathing hard, biting his lips with fists clenched. He’s cracked wide open and he doesn’t know what to do with all the roots and vines he can find inside himself. He remembers gardening with his Papá. He wasn’t good at it. His voice trembles.

“He almost left. For good. He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“There’s more,” Amans urges.

“We haven’t talked about it. We have but we’ve never _talked_ about it. Between us. And I’m mad because more than anything I’m scared for him. And I’m scared because…”

“Scared because what?”

If he lets the tears blur his vision, he can pretend that Amans is Keith. He doesn’t know the end of the sentence. It’s right there, but he can’t see it. He’s trying to follow the string of his thought to the end, but he keeps running into knots he can’t untangle. Lance closes his eyes. He smells the salt. The sand grains dig under his toenails and into the small lines of his callouses. The waves roar and they sound exactly like Red did that day in the hangar.

He’s standing on Varadero Beach. He’s home.

“Because I love him.”

Amans’s voice echoes around him. “Good, Lance. Very good. _Now_ you can win.”

 

* * *

 

The next time Lance drifts into awareness, Hunk and Pidge are still hovering at his bedside. He feels a little shaky and his arm won’t stop trembling when he sits up. It’s like crawling out of a fog.

“Lance, how are you feeling?” Hunk lifts a hand to take his temperature.

His tongue feels too thick in his mouth. “Um. Weird. But I don’t think it’s bad? I can’t, like, tell.” They’re staring at him, eyes wide and patient. He takes them in, crowded around and worried. Lance feels tears prickling at his eyes. Suddenly, he thinks of Keith flying at that battlecruiser and terror seizes him, unexpected. “I tell you guys that, right? You know? You know I love you more than anything?” He hiccups.

Oh wow he’s crying.

Pidge smooths out his ruffled hair. Hunk wipes Lance’s tears.

“Of course we know, Lance,” Pidge says, touched.

It’s like crashing from a bad high that was never going to last. He can’t stop the tears streaming down his face. He’s not sad, but he’s not happy anymore either. He’s just overwhelmed, and his arm is still shaking.

Hunk wraps him up in his arms and Pidge holds his hand. “We love you too, doofus,” she says. “Even when you do crazy shit and scare us half to death.”

He closes his eyes and manages to unclench his jaw. His voice is airy when he whispers. “No, Keith does that. Not me.”

She chuckles. “You both do. You’re more alike than you think.”

Lance nuzzles into Hunks chest and starts to play with Pidge’s small fingers in a daze. “I know. We’re…Space Ranger Partners.” Pidge apparently chews on her pinky nail. He should give her his extra file.

“Yeah?” Hunk asks.

“Mm. I’m in love with him.”

“Oh? Wow. That’s...”

“Yup.” It’s so easy to talk about this; how did he not realize what he felt sooner? “I had this dream…ancient space wizard or something. I don’t really remember it. Dreams are weird, huh? Anyway, I was on the beach. Back in Varadero, so I finally figured out that I like him. In a gay way. Bi. Women are still incredible, but Keith is Keith and I was on the beach, so that’s it. Es verdad. Como Mamá me dijó exactamente.”

The others exchange a look Lance is too woozy and tired to read into.

“I know you don’t know Spanish. It’s okay. I just wanted to say it in Spanish. For me.”

Hunk soothes him while Pidge settles in next to him for the night. He falls asleep fast. He dreams about going to the pizza shack with everyone and making sure Keith doesn’t die of his lactose allergy.

 

[Beautiful ART from stainedglassstar!](https://stainedglassstar.tumblr.com/post/171259490266/sometimes-your-joke-falls-on-alien-ears-the)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the stunning, beautiful art that @stainedglassstar drew!
> 
> https://stainedglassstar.tumblr.com/post/171259490266/sometimes-your-joke-falls-on-alien-ears-the


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last trial. No pressure. Super chill, Lance. No stakes here at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This is P. Again, I can't emphasize how excited M and I get reading your kind comments - it makes our day to know that we made something that someone else enjoyed. So thank you. One chapter to go.
> 
> Of all the chapters, this is the one that M and I co-wrote the most. My original draft had this really shitty ending, which she read and immediately told me she hated (I'm so glad she was honest because boy was she right). So, you can thank her for sparing you an unsatisfying conclusion, which will start building...
> 
> Now.

Lance wakes up to Pidge drooling on his shoulder. Hunk is already up, hair ruffled and headband crooked, one cheek a little redder than the other from being pressed into the bed all night. Pidge stirs and pries her eyes open. She gives him one more squeeze before she reaches for her glasses through a loud yawn.

“You drooled all over me, you sweaty peanut butter freak.”

She shrugs while Lance kicks the covers off, noticing with dismay that he slept in his formal outfit. “Sibling slobber privileges.”

Hunk jostles his shoulder gently. “Dude, you okay? You look a little, ah, hungover.”

Lance thinks this might have something to do with the dream odyssey of feelings that he took last night with a promiscuous ancient space wizard (who really should have used protection) where he realized that he’s a little bit in love with a guy who unironically wears a fanny pack for its _utility_ while he was space-intoxicated. And his massive sobbing ugly breakdown. But yeah, he’s totally fine.

_‘Fuck I’m like in love with Keith in a gay way and I didn’t realize how bad my insecurity issues were and I am way too tired for this shit right now.’_

“Um. No?”

Hunk gives him a stern look.

Lance tries to hold his ground but soon covers his face with a groan. “Oh my god. I completely embarrassed myself, didn’t I?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hunk soothes. “For one thing, you embarrass yourself all the time. Nothing new. And for two…Lance, it’s okay. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. Like, yeah, you freaked us out a little, but that was more of the weird space alcohol than you. We were just worried, man.”

This must be getting too mushy for Pidge because she snorts her evil shit-giving snort. “Yeah, Hunk’s right. Although, your Keith-wet-dream makes for beautiful blackmail material.”

“IT WAS NOT A WET DREAM!” Lance is scrambling around the room now, hunting for his competitive wear and tunic. He’s ripping off his shirt and pants, hopping on one leg as he points at her aggressively. “It was _very_ philosophical and junk!” He trips on his pant leg and tries to pretend that his blush is rug burn. “There was symbolism and everything!”

“Your dick was a metaphor?”

“NO!”

 

* * *

 

It’s a good thing he got some laughs in this morning because Lance has a sinking suspicion that today is going to be capital S-Stressful. And he went to one of the most prestigious academies on earth. With Iverson.

Once he eats breakfast, he’s carefully sequestered away from his teammates. He barely manages a final wave before he’s escorted back to the arena where the crowd is humming with anticipation, dead silent. Like a diving board, an extraordinarily tall platform juts out over the center of the stadium from even higher than where Keith is put. Speaking of, Lance looks up and sees Keith on his usual pedestal high above them and he swallows.

He starts to wonder about what happens after this is done and he has to see Keith regularly again. It’s going to be a little awkward now that he knows he’s been like, fucking in love with the guy for who knows how long. Or worse. What if Keith _does_ eventually decide to go back to the Blade? What if Lance never gets to see him? What if the years creep by and slowly they forget each other? Or one day all that bullshit about self-sacrifice rears its ugly head again and Lance has to stare at a monitor while Kolivan gives his condolences for their loss?

Naxella. The battlecruiser. Way too close.

Fuck he’s gotta tell him. Open honest communication, right..?

Yeah, he’s dead.

Thankfully, he might get knocked into a coma before the day is done, so he turns his attention to the old woman above. There are only two challengers left besides him.

“Welcome to the final task. You have performed admirably to get to this point. I congratulate you all.

“You three have proved your devotion, your endurance…but this last challenge demands something much more delicate from you – more fragile. Your last task requires trust.” She steps down from her elevated section and is lifted high up to the platform. “One by one you will join me up here. And one by one you will jump. You must trust in love, and in our patron god.” She gestures to Keith, and the monitors flicker to show him standing inside his mini particle barrier. “Fall as far as you can. You will be fitted with a harness. A push of the button in the center of your chest will activate the safety mechanism that will help you land unharmed.”

The guards are guiding him out with the girl while the first contender prepares.

Sitting in the waiting area is, without a doubt, the most nerve-wracking things he’s ever had to push through. “It’s a deadly trust fall. Jeez.” He folds his arms and tries to focus on something in the room. He starts counting tiles until he hears the applause drum up to a deafening volume. The sound pounds in his ears until a hush falls over the mob. A loud buzzer goes off and the cheering ruckus starts up again.

Lance gulps and tries to start counting again. He keeps getting stuck on eight. The girl goes out next, and the silence drags out much longer. The hollering and cheering thunders around even louder than before. He glances at the door, feeling a bead of sweat work up on his brow. His knee won’t stop bouncing.

Eight.

Eight.

Seven, eight…Fuck.

A hand on his shoulder and he jerks. The guard hands him the harness and points to the door. His turn.

Keith’s face is spread out on some of the monitors, doing his best to look composed and indifferent, but Lance can feel his eyes tracking him as he crosses the field. He tries not to notice when the cameras switch to follow him. He tries not to think about how small he looks in this huge stadium. The harness crisscrosses over his chest with a large button in the middle, just as promised.

That girl did really well. She made it really, really far before she hit the panic button. He has to go further. He has to win.

With a lurch, the floating panel starts to carry him up. The noise and splendor of his surroundings distort together until all he can focus on is Keith on the other side. The wind whips at his cheeks and sends a chill running down his spine. It’s not long before the giant holoscreen monitors look small and the audience is little more than a waving blur of color.    

Lance is not afraid of heights. He’s trained in silks and in piloting and he knows what it feels like to fall.

This is terrifying.

He steps onto the platform and joins the old woman. “Lance of Voltron,” she greets him. He pushes on a wobbly smile and shakes her hand.

“Let’s do this, I guess.” He tries not to look down.

“Trust in love and in your friend. You’ll do fine, young one.”

“No offense, but that’s pretty cliché.” He edges out to the precipice, the breeze just strong enough to make him unsure of his balance.

“Maybe. But clichés are often built on truths.”

Lance doesn’t answer, staring down. He tries to think about how long the quiet stretched for the girl – how long she fell. Was it five seconds? Longer? His toes reach the end of the structure and he takes as deep of a breath as he can manage. The spotlights flash at him from below. Keith watches him from below.

“I have to trust in love to win, right?”

“Yes.”

He thinks about the way Keith blushes when they get close. How he let Lance tuck his hair and hold him tight for a dance and lets himself be vulnerable. There’s something there, he can feel it.

He’s in love with Keith. And like all people who are in love, Lance does something remarkably stupid.

Before he can think too hard about it, he undoes the clasp of the harness, tosses it away. Then he lets himself fall.

He’s sure there’s a collective gasp, a shriek of horror or two, but all he can hear is the rushing air that strokes over his face as he pitches for the ground with deadly speed. He stops thinking, every hesitation and doubt about himself flying into the air behind him as the ground gets closer.

A slight turn of his head, and as if in slow motion, he sees Keith as he goes rushing by. His mouth is open, the barrier around him reflecting off the stage lights as it disintegrates. He is fierce and stunning lit up like that.

Keith loves him too. And maybe Lance is wrong, maybe it’s not the same romantic love that he feels. But he knows that Keith loves him somehow. That means the priest woman won’t let him get killed. He does what the task demands of him and he trusts in sweet, corny, wild love.

A loud buzz shreds the air and a section of vents open up below him, like an air hockey table. He’s met with a violent gust of wind that catches him just before he smacks into the field, but just barely. He hovers for just a moment, lifted before he crashes. Hard. His body’s still carrying a lot of momentum and it throws him without mercy. He hits his head, neck whipping back brutally as he loses his breath, a pained gasp escaping him as he rolls on his still-bruised ribs. He can practically feel his brain slam against the interior of his skull.

Everything aches and his vision blacks out a few times, limbs like lead. Lance turns his gaze to the side, a strong bout of nausea swimming through him. With a grunt, he restrains the urge to vomit, but the lights and noise around are grating on his senses. The blood pounding through even the vessels in his brain is a tangible thing. He blinks and sees the outline of two legs running at him.

“Lance! Fuck, look at me. Lance, stay awake, okay. Talk to me.”

His eyelids pry open just enough to see the silhouette above him. “How’d you get here so fast?” he wheezes. Keith takes his hand, holding it just like he did after Sendak.

Keith stares down into his eyes and smooths Lance’s brow. “I think you have a concussion. We’re gonna get you fixed up though, don’t worry.”

Two of the guards start to lift him onto a stretcher. “Wasn’t worried. Knew you’d look out for me.”

They carry Lance off the field and throw him into their version of a healing pod. Before he goes under, Lance sees the whole team gathered in front of him. He smiles.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! This is it! Thanks for joining us on the ride. We love this chapter dearly and hope you do too.
> 
> Happy reading,  
> P and M

Keith is already waiting for him when the old woman leads him to the suite. The door slides open and Lance sees him stand, a nervous energy bouncing off of him. He gives a small wave. Lance takes in the fountains adorning the walls, the soft carpet, the skylight, and the massive bed in the center.

The woman backs away from him. “The night is yours, young ones. Congratulations.” She shuts the door and Lance finally summons the courage to look at Keith. He’s still not used to the hair.

“That’s so awkward,” he blurts.

Keith chuckles. “You’re telling me. She tried to give me sex tips like three times yesterday on the way to the stadium.” Lance makes a gagging noise and steps further into the room. “I’ve looked the place over. As far as I can tell, we don’t have any surveillance to worry about.”

“Darn. I was ready to make my debut as a galactic pornstar.”

Keith laughs loudly at that, a snort actually breaking through his chortles, which is adorable. “I can’t believe you sometimes.” He wipes at his face and grimaces. “Uhg. C’mon. There’s a bathroom and I need to get this makeup off before I maim someone.” He turns the bathroom light on. “How’s your head? And ribs?”

Lance starts rummaging through the cabinets until he finds a soft oil and some washcloths.“Fine now. Here, I know how to do this. Just sit up on the counter.” Keith does and holds his hair away from his face. Lance applies the oil and the eyeliner smudges immediately, dripping down Keith’s face and leaving him looking even more emo than before. Lance starts laughing. “Oh my god you look like that old rock band!”

“Kiss?” Keith looks at himself in the mirror and whips around to glare at Lance. “I fucking hate you.”

Still snickering, Lance wipes the smears away and instructs Keith to wash his face. He takes off his own makeup and the two are left staring at each other through their clean reflections. “No you don’t. I couldn’t have jumped if you did.”

Keith shoots him an odd look and goes back out to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, about that. What the fuck, Lance?! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”  

Lance starts rifling about for a change of clothes to sleep in, pointedly not looking at Keith. Okay yeah, he knows he kind of promised himself to, like, confess, but he’s only a teenaged boy, alright? He’s gotta work up to this stuff. Give himself a breather.

“Um, okay. I promise we’ll get to that, but can we just relax for a few minutes? I feel like Zarkon ran me over with his command ship.”

Keith stares at him for a long time before he huffs and uncrosses his arms. “Fine. Fair enough.”

Once they’re both changed into what look like sweatpants and soft t-shirts, Lance continues to search through the room. It’s part procrastination and part boredom, but it’s so worth it when he finds a particular stash of items in a trunk at the foot of the bed. He cannot restrain his amazement.

“Holy shit!”

“What?”

Lance answers by lifting what can only be described as the universe’s most ridiculously shaped dildo into Keith’s view. “What the heck did they expect us to _do_ in here?!”

Keith squints at the bright yellow object like it has personally wronged him. “Why are there _spikes_ on it?”

“Dude, I told you they were kink freaks. I. Called. That.” He punctuates each word with a clap against the dildo, then tosses it at Keith. “Ooh, we gotta check the rest of this stuff out.”

“Ew! I don’t want it!” Keith crawls back up on the bed and kicks it back at Lance, knocking him in the shoulder.

He waves it off. “Man, they’ve got everything! I don’t even know what half of this is supposed to do.” He holds up a three-pronged _something_ that flops kind of pathetically and giggles. “Is this supposed to be a trident? Where would you even put it?”

“I don’t want to know.”

Lance keeps giggling as he sorts through the treasure chest of abominations. “There’s just bags of glitter in here! Like, giant plastic baggies of glitter? How is that a sex thing? It’d be a bitch to clean out.”

Keith throws a pillow at him. “Stop messing with the alien sex toys before you contract space-herpes.”

“Okay, okay. You’re such a sourpuss.” He puts the items away and shuts the trunk, hopping on it to face Keith cross-legged. “That reminds me. How did they come to the conclusion that you’re a virgin without knowing anything about you?”

Keith shrugs. “Lucky guess?” Lance regrets asking. He does not need this information right now, get _out_ of the gutter, brain. “I guess it wouldn’t have made sense for me _not_ to be. According to their beliefs or whatever. Must not have even crossed their minds.” Keith leans back a little and blows a tuft of hair from his face, which immediately returns to its spot.

Lance feels his neck getting warm. “Hey, uh, do you want help with that?” Keith tilts his head. “The hair, I mean.” Keith continues to give him a blank stare and god help him if it isn’t just adorable. Lance rolls his eyes and quickly hunts down a hair tie from the bathroom.

He motions for Keith to sit on the floor as he plops onto the bed behind him. “C’mere. I am the Braid King. And I can help you cut it when we get back too.” If Lance expected protest, he gets none, Keith scooting back carefully between his legs. Lance gets to work leisurely, fingers combing through the strands and weaving them together. He feels Keith’s chest expand with a soft sigh against his knee. The room gets quiet.

“Thanks,” Keith mutters, leaning just a little into the touch.

“No problem. I used to do my niece’s hair like this all time.” His hands slow down until they’re just absently stroking over the long tresses, eyes misty at the thought of home.

“You miss it.”

“Yeah,” he gasps. “But this is important. I don’t regret it.”

“Sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault, silly.”

“Still. It must be… I don’t know. I guess I’ve never been homesick for earth. You know.”

Lance does. He has the gist of the backstory there: missing mom, foster care, the works. “...Maybe not for earth, but you’ve been homesick before. I mean, with the Blade, right?” He ties off the braid and pulls it over Keith’s shoulder for him to inspect. Keith just leans further into him, resting his shoulder against his thigh.

“I guess you’re right. I really was.” He closes his eyes and relaxes, letting his fingers mess with the braid. “...I don’t think I’ve apologized yet.”

“For what?”

“For leaving. For worrying everyone. For making things awkward.”

Lance mulls that over for a moment. “No one’s mad at you. And you’re here now.”

“Yeah. I am.”

He takes a breath. “Will you stay?”

“...I want to. As long as I can.”

“And if you have to go again?”

“Then I’ll be better about calling. And I’ll come home as soon as I can.”

Home.

Lance hums his agreement, content with those terms for now. He feels the edges of the Naxella wound itch a little as they finally start to close up and heal. It’s slow and still barely scabbed, but at least the sting fizzles away at last.

Lance watches Keith for a long moment as he makes no attempt to move away. He bites his lip. “Here. Scooch.” He nudges Keith forward and slides down onto the floor, wrapping his arms around his middle, his heart racing like it’s on the lamb. “This okay? Like, comfy?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Cool.” Oh, he’s so smooth. The smoothest. Like crushed velvet, until you rub it backward and realize that it was lying to you and that it’s a garbage fabric with no business touching human skin. So smooth.

Then Keith lays his hands over Lance’s forearms, running a finger near the crease of his elbow, and the poor boy just about combusts on the spot. “Do you ever…? Nevermind.”

“What?”

“It’s stupid.”

“C’mon. I won’t laugh or anything.”

“It’s just… I dunno. A random thought I guess.” Keith takes a breath and starts fiddling with Lance’s hand, turning the palm over and gliding across the sparse gun calluses that not even the best hand cream can weather away. “Do you ever just want to...stay somewhere? Sorry, that’s vague.”

Lance turns his fingers with Keith’s. “No. I think I get what you mean.” He does – he really does. Lance closes his eyes and his arms twitch around Keith. Now. Here we go. Doing this. Yeah. Okay. Deep breath. The waves and Red’s roar. “Like...right now?” he prompts quietly.

Keith’s voice is that breathy raspy tone Lance has unknowingly memorized, husky and manly in a vulnerable soft way that makes no sense at all. Their fingers finally weave together, brown against white. Warm. “...Yeah. Exactly like now.”

Lane only hums, trying not to bite his lip to shreds. This is happening, right? He’s not imagining it. This is totally happening. They sit in the quiet for a while, both of them trying to find the courage to do something. There must be half a dozen false starts, open mouths that snap shut just as fast, chests tight with anticipation, even though they _have_ to be sure about this.

“Can I tell you something?” Lance finally blurts out. Keith lets go of his hand and turns out of his grasp until he’s sitting so that they’re face to face. He blinks. Lance takes that as the go-ahead.

But then their mouths open at the same time. “I like you.”  

They don’t speak for a long time, just stare with open expressions, Lance’s brain a whirring fervor trying to catch up with reality. Keith is the first to speak, eyes wide and a little brave.

“...Can I kiss you?”

Lance just nods. Keith crawls closer. A hand at his cheek. Their noses bump softly, like they’re just saying hello. Then it’s there, a tender chaste pressure at his lips, slightly chapped and warm. Lance closes his eyes as he presses back so gingerly he can barely tell he’s moving at all. And then everything else drains away. They’re nowhere together, just two boys kissing because they like each other.

After a long moment, Keith pulls back a bit, letting his forehead rest against Lance’s. His cheeks are bright red, but he’s smiling when he whispers, “So, I don’t know about you, but my ass is basically numb.”

Lance giggles quietly against him. “Get off the floor?”

“Get off the floor.”

They move to sit on the bed, and Lance looks at the room and the obvious chest of sex toys next to the bed.

“Dude. Everyone on the planet thinks we’re banging right now.”

“Buy me dinner first.”

They sit next to each other leaning against the headboard. Slowly, Keith reaches for his hand and tangles their fingers together again. Lance tugs him gently so Keith rests on his shoulder.

“I was gonna ask you about the last trial,” Keith mutters, looking cozy and relaxed and happy.

“Yeah. The lady said we had to trust in love, so…”

“Well don't do it again. Trust in shit like gravity." Keith looks at him with tired eyes and heaves a resigned sigh through a smile. "But that’s seriously so corny.”

“Yeah, but have you met me? I am Mr. Corny. King Corn on the Cob. Popcorny.”

“I get it, I get it. Stop already.”

“Okay, but I’m just giving you the full disclaimer right now: You’re getting some cutesy nicknames.”

“No.”

“Yeah you are, mullet breath.”

“ _What?_ That’s not even–”

Lance drags him closer and rubs their noses together, ignoring Keith’s scowl. “You heard me,  emo-face.”

Keith rolls his eyes and slinks down to let his head rest on the pillow. Lance follows. “We’re having this discussion later. Right now I’m tired and I want to sleep.”  

“Whatever you say, _Texas-_ ”

“ _Lance._ ”

“Fine, fine.” He carefully ducks in for one last lingering kiss and revels in the way Keith melts into it. “...G’night, Samurai,” he whispers.

Keith closes his eyes. Lets Lance press up against him. “That one’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things you might like to know:
> 
> 1\. (This is P.) I just finished drafting an epilogue sort of deal for this. More fluff and emotional stuff to wrap up loose ends. Spring term is kicking into high gear for both of us, but M will edit it soon and our goal is to have it up before season 5 releases. If that's something you wanna see, you might want to subscribe to the story or to our author page so you don't miss it. (God I sound like a youtuber.)
> 
> 2\. On the note of subscription (continuing the youtube-esque sign-off), we have A LOT of future projects planned, a couple of them already drafted and just waiting for some revision. So, if you found any joy at all in this story, stay tuned, because there's more coming. 
> 
> 3\. Again, we can't thank you guys enough for the comments, kudos, encouragement, and general support that we received over the course of this project. Y'all're wonderful human people. 
> 
> Thanks,  
> P and M


	9. Bonus Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith came out here to have a good time and he's honestly feeling so loved right now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! We almost made it in time for Valentine's Day, but oh well. This was somewhat less vigorously edited (because college), but we think it should satisfy. And it truly is the last chapter. Promise. We're done now.
> 
> Look at the endnotes for SOME STUFF TO KNOW.
> 
> Happy reading,  
> P and M

Keith fires up the simulator for one last match with the gladiator. He can probably take it down before lunch. It’s been a few of days since they left “Fucked-up Planet,” as he and Lance have dubbed it. The whole incident was super weird and uncomfortable, but apparently weird and uncomfortable was just what Lance needed to come to an epiphany about his feelings.

Now, Keith will never claim to be the wisest guy in the universe, but at least he can recognize his own gayness without the intervention of dramatic alien sex rituals. Still, he guesses it wouldn’t be Lance if it wasn’t over the top and dramatic to the point of pain.

He doesn’t think that he’s an especially romantic person. There isn’t a whole lot about him that’s soft of gooey or open the way Lance is. But Keith is…happy. He honestly is. It seems strange because the conflict with the Galra is heating up fast, but for now, everything is okay. He’s back with the team, everyone is glad to see him, and they’ve taken a third of Galra territory for the coalition.

With a short yell, he runs the gladiator through with his Marmora blade, light on his feet and long hair whipping back in the half-assed ponytail he lashed it into. The robot dissolves and he stands upright with a content sigh, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Right on cue, the door slides open and Lance waddles in, sleep still pulling at the corner of his eyes and a yawn breaching his mouth. This is a new routine for them. Lance always comes to get him for lunch now.

Yeah, Keith is pretty happy.

“Don’t you ever sleep in?”

Keith tucks his knife back into his belt with a shrug, stepping to meet Lance. “Not often.”

Everything about this – them – it’s new and exciting and it makes something in his chest twist wonderfully whenever he sees Lance around. It’s soothing. Every day now, each time Lance threads his fingers with Keith’s, the motion becomes a little smoother, a little more assured. Keith has slowly discovered the best way to rest his head against Lance’s shoulder.

He reaches up and gives Lance’s hands a good morning squeeze, but Lance shrieks and pulls away. “Keith! No! You’re all sweaty. You can’t mix your sweat with my moisturizer, oh my god.” Keith rolls his eyes and resists the temptation to wipe his hands across Lance’s cheeks, but his ears are too sensitive for that kind of screeching.

“Fine, I’ll go shower.”

Lance nods jerkily and for much too long, which means that he’s hiding something. “Yeah, go do that. And use conditioner!”

 

* * *

 

Keith does decide to indulge Lance and use enough conditioner for once. He has not learned how to deal with the hair yet, but it doesn’t bother him as much as it did at first. It’s actually kind of nice to be able to pull it off his neck now that it’s long enough.

Just as he’s rounding the corner to the kitchen, he hears a loud thunk, followed by giggles and furious shushing. Something smells absolutely wonderful. One brow raised with suspicion, he quietly steps inside, trying to ignore the way his mouth waters.

Keith walks in to see Hunk bent over a tray of something, Pidge and Lance huddled around him while he sprinkles seasonings. Shiro leans against the counter with an easy smile on his face but says nothing when Keith shoots him a questioning look.

“Hunk, my best bro for life, I owe you.” Lance hops back to admire the food while Pidge and Hunk high-five.

“Owe him for what?” Keith finally asks, interrupting the celebration.

Lance shrieks and whips around. “Keith!” He places a hand on his chest to calm his racing heart. “Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

Keith crosses his arms at Lance’s antics. “I didn’t. I’ve been here for like two minutes now. What’s going on?”

For some reason, Lance blushes, and Keith barely has time to think about how cute that is before the boy’s mouth is running a mile a minute. “Oh, um. Well y’know how we were talking earlier? When you were kidnapped?” Keith nods, encouraging him to slow down. Lance takes a breath. “You said you missed fast-food, so I thought – well. I asked Hunk if he could make you curly fries.”

Oh. There it is.

That tug deep in his chest, buried in the valves of his heart. Every ounce of Keith that isn’t dedicated to being a badass just liquefies in an instant. Gooey puddle of mush and happy stupid feelings that not even Pidge’s exaggerated gagging can disrupt.

“Oh. That’s…That’s thoughtful. I – thanks.” He turns to Hunk, who is beaming grotesquely. “Um, you too.” Holy shit his face is on fire. He hears Shiro chuckle behind Lance and he can’t even be bothered to glare at him.

So. Freaking. Happy.

Everyone loads up their plates with the light green curly fries and Hunk’s space-replacement for ketchup. Sitting at the table, their knees knock together and Keith grins at Lance between mouthfuls of delicious curly fries. Hunk outdid himself.

Speaking of, the big guy coos at the two of them. “I just love it when my food can bring people together like this,” he says brightly, and Lance nods.

“This was great, Hunk.” He stands from the table and offers Keith his hand. “Now for phase two!”

Keith blinks at him. “Phase two?”

“Yeah!” Lance pulls him up and starts guiding him out the door with a wave at the rest of the team. “It’s, uh. Today is kind of a date? If you want?”

“Oh. Really? I thought dates were more…” he trails off.

Lance takes his hand once the door shuts, smoother this time again. “I mean, the rest of it will just be the two of us. But dates are really supposed to be doing things that you like. And I figured that after a few months alone you’d really like to eat food that you like with the people you like. So…”

Keith buries his face in his free palm. “Oh my god,” he mutters.

“What? Was that bad?”

“No! No, just. You’re such a fucking sap I don’t know how to deal with you.”

Lance gives his fingers a nervous tug. “So, would you like to?”

Keith pulls himself together, straightening his spine and looking Lance in the eye. “Do _I_ ,” he starts, “want to go on a _date_ with my boyfriend?” He gets ready to make a snarky follow-up about how of course he does, doofus, but Lance seems to be frozen. “Lance? Are you...? I want to. Go on the date, I mean. Really,” he finishes, anxiously tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Lance just stares at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“You said boyfriend.”

Keith pulls his hand away. “Um. Oh. Should I not have? I mean, I guess we haven’t actually talked about it. Sorry – I just thought…”

Just like that Lance snaps out of it, hands waving in a frenzy. “No! No, not at all! It’s great! I just. You surprised me… It’s good. Yeah.”

“Oh. Okay. So we are.”

“Yep.”

“Boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends.”

“Cool.”

Nodding vigorously, Lance steps into Keith’s space to brush by the awkward. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.” He puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders. “Boyfriends,” he grins.

And because they are both ridiculous, they both take a deep breath in synch, releasing it in a big huff. “Okay. So, what is phase two?”

“Hmm.” Lance links them at the elbows and they start down the hall again. “Well, now that I think about it…”

“What?”

“Well, I had this big thing planned, right? Super over-the-top romantic everything. But I think maybe it’s a bit much for a first date. So, maybe we should do something more chill?”

Keith nods. “That makes sense. Ideas?”

Lance side-eyes him. “…Maybe one. You trust me?”

 

* * *

 

Keith tries not to jump at the sound of scissors snipping experimentally behind him. He should not have agreed. He doesn’t trust Lance. At all. Ever again. No matter how pretty his eyes are.

“I can’t believe I’m even offering, but do you want me to cut it like it was before? The mullet?” Lance grimaces at him through the mirror, and Keith rolls his eyes.

“Actually, no. It’s kinda nice to have it off my neck.” Keith closes his eyes. “I trust you. Do whatever you think is good. Just...shorter.”

Lance positively beams at him, puts the scissors aside, and leans down to hug Keith in the chair. He buries his face in the junction of his shoulder and tightens his hold until Keith is almost uncomfortable with the compression. “Keith,” he gasps through fake tears, “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Lance.”

“No, I’m actually being kinda serious!”

“I trust you with my life literally every day,” he deadpans.

Lance stands back up and snatches his equipment again. “And while that is also a super-huge deal, this is bigger.”

“It’s just hair.”

“Don’t ruin this for me!” Keith sees him pop his neck and roll his shoulders, which are broad and nice and Keith mentally appreciates them. “Okay, here we go.”

Keith closes his eyes again and wills his shoulders to drop their tension. The large bathroom they’re in is quiet except for the whispered snips of Lance’s scissors. He feels gentle tugging and lean fingers running against his scalp, reminding him again of how they got together, the feel of those gun-callused hands against his.

“…So…”

Keith looks through the mirror at Lance’s strained voice. “What’s up?”

Lance chuckles and waves him off with the comb. “I guess… I don’t know. Don’t answer if this is awkward and I shouldn’t even ask, but…”

Keith smiles at him. “Lance. Just ask me.”

“Okay. It’s just this little thing I keep getting hung up on… Um, what do you want out of this? When you really think about it. And I’m not fishing for compliments. I don’t mean what you want from, like, me. I’m talking about... _this_ , with both of us in it even with all of the Voltron stuff going on because I…” He trails off, gathering himself.

Keith frowns. “This is really bothering you, huh?” Lance nods and releases a heavy breath that fans over Keith’s scalp. He doesn’t know what to say. “Let me think about this for a sec.”

He spins it around his head as Lance continues cutting his hair in silence. What does he want? A serious and committed long-term relationship is something he’s never thought about before. He knew he was in love with Lance. And that was it. Step one complete. There was no step two. Die alone and unrequited. Now there’s like a step three? Keith always just figured he’d never get this far – especially not on account of the patron god of viagra or whatever the fuck it was.

Keith doesn’t think of what to say until Lance steps back with a humble, “Ta-da!” Keith examines himself in the mirror. “How’s that work?” Lance took it up from his waist to just below his shoulders, the strands cleanly cut and framing his face well. Still long enough to pull back easily, not so long that it’ll give him a headache. Keith doesn’t understand how Allura does it.

“It’s great, Lance. Thanks.”

“Told you,” he preens, admiring his handiwork. Keith stands up and faces Lance. He takes both of his hands.

“I’ve thought it through.”

“Now that’s a first.”

A short glare. “Shut up. I’m trying to communicate with you. Shiro told me couples have to do that.”

Lance laughs and pulls them backward until they sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Okay. I’m all ears.”

Keith takes a breath and prepares himself for the most inelegant monologue ever. “Um. This is gonna be...not, like, very articulate.”

“I’ve been practicing my Keith-ese.”

He takes a deep breath. “This is – you – I’m happy, Lance.” He squeezes Lance’s hand for emphasis, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. “I don’t know if you get how big a deal that is. And I know it makes me sound all emo like Pidge is always saying I am, but I mean it.” He finally meets Lance’s gaze. “The last time I was able to look at my life and say that I was happy with it, like, as a whole, was when Shiro was still at the Garrison.”

Lance barely blinks, completely focused on him. “Keith…”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you that to make you feel bad for me.”

“No. I know you’re not.”

“I just. I don’t want you to doubt it. From my end, I guess. Because I’ve liked you for a really long time.”

Lance wraps an arm around his waist and pulls them together so that they’re staring at their entwined hands, hip to hip. “I don’t. I mean, who could resist me, right?” he jokes. Keith laughs once and nudges him with his shoulder. He rests his head against Lance’s.

“This is...good.” He pulls Lance’s hand to his face to kiss his fingers. “So that’s what I want. Just you here with me and me here with you. Pretty simple.”

Lance hums and traces circles into the back of his hand, a fond look in his eyes that Keith will never get tired of. “See? That was mostly articulate and everything. Solid improvement.”

“Does that all sound alright?” he asks, leaning in so their noses touch. “Any other concerns?”

“Nope.” Lance offers him a soft smile against the corner of his mouth, pressing in against his lip and Keith realizes that this is the first time they’ve done this that his palms haven’t sweat an ocean, that his breathing is still even. “All good here.”

 

* * *

 

After Lance convinces Keith that there are more romantic things to do besides make out on the bathroom floor, they wander back into the halls.

“Now for phase three,” Lance proclaims, but Keith snags his arm before they can get far, pulling him back to their rooms. “Uh, Keith?”

“I’m taking the date hostage.”

Lance snorts but follows along. “What? Like you did with Lubos?”

“Yup. Go get your swimsuit.” They quickly get changed and try to check each other out as discreetly as possible, because partial nudity kind of has a different context now that they’re not just two bros. “I’m mad that we never figured out the pool thing.”

Lance takes his hand, so easily Keith hardly notices it this time. “So what? Your idea of a fun date is for us to pound our heads against an unsolvable problem for hours?”

Keith shrugs. “I like it when we work together.” They step into the elevator, which thankfully works this time around.

The pool is much higher up than Keith remembers, glistening in the low light. He watches Lance’s profile as he examines it with a critical eye. Lance is a water guy, so Keith thinks this falls into the date activity parameters fairly well.  

Lance nudges him. “Any ideas?”

He squints up and shrugs. “Not really. You’re the plan man.”

Lance appears to gloss over the compliment, doing his best not to blush, and Keith is silently proud of himself for it. “Okay… Uh, is there a ladder anywhere?”

“Are you joking?”

“Alright then, wise guy. Why don’t you just throw your knife at it?”

“Left it in my room.”

“Oh my god – look – just… There’s gotta be a switch or something, right? Or a secret door?”

They argue for several more minutes about Altean architectural practices, towels hanging from their necks as they scan the room. Lance thinks he might have found a panel hidden in the wall, so he calls Keith over. He approaches from the opposite side, rolling his eyes.

Keith steps on a tile in the center and it glows blue. Suddenly, he’s watching Lance from far above as he rockets up into the air with a piercing shriek. Badass or not, it’s fucking _startling_ to get thrown into the air without warning.

Keith’s toes barely skim the under-surface of the water before he’s plummeting to the ground again, yelling the whole way down.

“Keith!” Lance calls, running for the center. He’s not gonna make it. Fuck – Keith’s going to be a pancake on the floor, all because they wanted to go swimming and go on a date. His bare foot crosses the threshold of the glowing tile just and Keith crashes into it.

Then the floor bends. It sinks down with Keith’s weight, Lance tumbling into the center with him as the angle of his footing shifts. Their chests crash together, and Keith feels the rough friction of skin.

It’s a trampoline. They’re on a fucking space trampoline.

His arm gets hooked with Lance’s knee in the chaos. “AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” They’re both screaming in the soprano range as they shoot into the air. They fall back down, clinging to one another and bounce again. Then they’re submerged in cool water. Prying their limbs apart, they swim to the upper surface. Once they can breathe again they just stare at each other for a few seconds.

Keith takes in the sight of Lance right then: hair dripping in his face, rivulets running down his collarbone and caressing his jaw before they drop off his chin. This boy. This dumb, stupid, cute, brave, wonderful boy. Keith starts laughing, probably harder than he ever has before, not just normal Keith-chuckles. These are top quality laughs, complete with snorting and raspy seal-like barks that he doesn’t even care to be embarrassed about. Like an afterthought, he notices Lance laughing with him, huge shrieking guffaws that wrack his whole body until its doubled over.

“Holy shit I thought we were dead!”

“It’s a goddamn trampoline! A stupid, glowing, Altean trampoline! In space!”

“In! Space!”

“We’re in space!”

“We’re fighting a space war, in space, and I thought we were gonna die from a pool accident.”

They keep giggling and start paddling around, splashing each other and shouting. Lance does a few laps to show off how much faster he is, but Keith counters by performing much more impressive dives now that they can climb out onto the upper level where it’s like a normal pool.

After what must be close to two vargas, Keith sits on the pool edge, squeezing the water out of his hair while he watches Lance float on his back. He looks so tranquil that Keith has a hard moment reconciling the image with the goofy loudmouth. The sound of the water echoes around the chamber, and Keith watches Lance’s chest rise with each breath.

It’s a much more pleasant image than when he almost drowned himself.

When he looks up, Lance has cracked an eye open to stare at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Lance swims over to him and loops his arm around Keith’s waist as he stands in the shallows. “Not a bad date-hijacking. I can admit it.”

Keith smirks, pleased with his ability to convey basic human emotions in a healthy way for once. “What was phase three originally?”

Lance hums noncommittally, thumbs tracing small and pleasant circles into Keith’s skin. “It’s kind of dumb and over the top.”

Keith playfully pokes his thigh under the water with his big toe. “You already told me that. What was it?”

Lance groans. “You’re gonna laugh at me,” he whines. Keith gives him a look. “Okay, fine. I just sort of thought, y’know, at the ball...”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I only got one dance. And you got three. So it’s kind of unfair.” Keith raises an eyebrow. “I also barely taught you the basics, and we might have more diplomacy stuff come up so you should really know for _practical_ reasons –”

Keith laughs softly, utterly flattered and happy and amused. “Lance, oh my god. You can just say you want to dance with me. What is this? A bad prom-posal?”

“I’d totally take you to prom. And we’d win the prom royalty thing.”

Keith stands to help Lance out of the pool. They start to head for the showers, lightly toweling off in the elevator back down. Lance’s hair is in fluffy disarray, which must mean Keith’s is ten thousand times worse. He attempts to finger comb it but gives up quickly. A deep yawn escapes him, his muscles pleasantly burned from the swimming.

They quickly enter their own shower stalls once they arrive. After they finish, (Keith much faster than Lance because he doesn’t obsess over alien chlorine hair damage) they sneak some leftover fries from the kitchen and stow away back in Lance’s room.

Drowsiness tugging gently at their limbs, they stagger inside. Keith gracelessly flops onto the bed. Lance lays himself out fully along Keith’s side, settling them in so that Keith can rest his head on his chest the way he likes. Keith appreciates that Lance has noticed that this is his spot now.

“So, you want to dance with me.”

“Yeah. A little. There was this dream thing – it doesn’t matter – but I’ve been thinking about it since then.” Lance looks up at the ceiling in thought. “Although...we need to make sure we don’t blow through every date activity all at once or else we’ll run through every kind of date before we hit twenty-five. I’ll have to watch our pacing. And you’ll have to come up with stuff too.”

Keith nuzzles into Lance’s shirt, taking in the smell of soap and boy as he feels long fingers weave through his freshly cut hair. He likes the sound of making it to twenty-five. “Sounds fun.”

“Mm-hmm. I’m gonna romance your socks off, cowboy.”

“Square dancing?” he teases. He uses the arm that’s draped across Lance’s torso to take his hand again. He just likes holding it. It makes him feel warm.

Lance’s breathing has evened out with impending sleep, but the amusement is still there. “Ew. No. Classy stuff.”

Keith only nods. After a few minutes of quiet dozing, Lance’s fingers twist gently in his hair, grip shifting to guide him from the base of his neck. Keith stares at him a long minute, trying to sort through all the things they’ve been through together, what they’ve done. But he doesn’t have the brain capacity for that kind of reflection at the moment, so he lets those familiar bright and gooey feelings course through.

He leans down as Lance’s eyes close, and they’re getting better at this. They really are. The kiss is longer, a little more daring than the last. But it’s still brimming with sweetness and the promise of all that has yet to come. They have time. They can go slow. And Keith has never gone slow for anything in his life, but he thinks he can do it here, for Lance.

He pulls back, lips catching with a soft smack that leaves him tingling. He offers one more peck at the corner of Lance’s smile, then cheek. He lays back down, and they press a little tighter together.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME STUFF:   
> Again, thank you for comments, kudos, and all other types of lovely things. No more chapters to write, but P also draws somewhat decently, so maybe we'll go back and insert some art if we get a chance? Which scene(s) would you like to see illustrated? Let us know!
> 
> Also, we went ahead and made a tumblr account too. We'll post our stories there as well, and probably take a few asks/requests as long as they're short and manageable. 
> 
> https://pmwrites.tumblr.com/
> 
> Have a nice day! See you for the next project!  
> P and M


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